He strode away from her; stopped and turned. "When I am master of the earth we will talk of this again. You say woman's love comes unbidden? Perhaps it does--we will wait then upon its pleasure. But remember this: No woman ever loved a man who was a weakling. I want not that kind of woman's love!" He strode from the room. * * * * * "Let us get to the details," said Graff. My supper was finished; he pushed away the dishes. We were approaching the earth; slowing down now; in another twenty-four or thirty-six hours we would be ready to land. Zetta was seated across the cabin. Graff had drawn two long tables together; a bank of parchment insect lamps was over them with the illumination shaded downward. Graff added, "Zetta thinks you might be able to draw me a map of your worl'. Could you?" Geography had been rather my hobby. "I think so," I said readily. "I can draw you one, fairly accurate, on the old Mercator's projection." "What is that?" I explained it; the surface spread flat; the lines of latitude and longitude at right angles rather than in a simulation of the globular surface. He nodded. "That will do all right. Try it now. I will watch you, and you mus' explain as you do it. We mus' pick our landing place and plan the general campaign. Here, Zetta, help us." He unrolled a white opaque parchment some four feet by six. Zetta fastened it flat to the table. For a pen, I had a metal point in a small handle, with a dangling wire. The point glowed and etched a thin dark line on the parchment. And there was a very serviceable set of drawing instruments--one for measuring angles, the equivalent of a ruler, a compass--and an intricate affair which drew at will every variety of curve--circle, ellipses of every eccentricity, parabola, hyperbola, many other curves which Graff named, but which were unfamiliar to me. And there was a pantagraph-- He explained the uses of these various instruments. "Go ahead," he said. I took perhaps two hours. It was doubtless a very crude world map I drew from memory. But in its broadest features it was fairly accurate. I laid down the horizontal equator; spaced parallel lines, above it, and below; drew the Greenwich meridian and the others at ten-degree intervals. There was a time, in my university days, when I knew with fair exactitude the latitude and longitude of most of the world's great cities. I marked them now as dots; and from them, the coast lines grew. Graff was intensely interested. When I had the main national boundaries sketched in, he stopped me. "That will do us ver' nicely. Show me where the daylight is now." I calculated. It was now by earth-time, the noon of July 7, 1957; almost exactly mid-spring in the north and mid-autumn in the south. The equator was pointing toward the sun. The days and nights were now about equal at the equator--each some twelve hours long, shading off into twilight at the poles. "And next month?" said Graff.