"Look here. Look at me. Joyce, answer me. Have you been talking to that fellow you told us about--the one you met on your other trip?" She let it out, a tiny, miserable, "Yes." Harley's hand slammed down on the table. He wrestled his heavy body up out of his chair, stamped halfway across the room toward her and stopped. "Young lady, I'm not going to have this. I'm not going to have anything like this! You hear? You want to get tangled up with him? My God, you've been communicating with him for a _year_?" "Whenever I was able to," Joyce said hoarsely, looking at the floor. "Joyce!" He came to her, reached down and lifted her chin. "Joyce, you're not--you're not in love with this--this creature!" She nodded, suddenly angered at her weakness, angered at the wetness in her eyes. "Oh, my God!" Harley raised his arms, brought them down with a slap against his thighs. He turned away from her. He glared at his wife, who was drifting nervously up out of her chair. He turned back to Joyce. "You're not serious. You can't be. This can't--this just can't happen to us. You'll have to get this foolishness out of your head right now. Right this minute. My God, the next thing you know, you'll be wanting to marry one of those things." "I do...." The sound barely came out. She swallowed, forced her voice up. "I am going to marry him." * * * * * A blast of silence swept the room, but, strangely, the shock of it didn't touch her. All at once, she was calm, quiet. She had said it, and now she was armored against everything. "No," her father was saying dully. "No, Joyce. No." "I'm sorry, Dad," she said all in a rush. "I've thought about it a long time. I thought I'd forget him after a little while. I wasn't able to. I'm in love with him--I'll always be in love with him. When I come back, I'm bringing him with me. We're going to be married here." Now, finally, the storm broke out of him. He yelled at her, he stamped around, his fists pounded the air--it was just as she had pictured it, dreaded it. Yet she was unshaken now, detachedly able to watch him as if he were some unruly, unintelligent child. I am going to marry him, she had said, and once the words were out, everything else was easy. There were no problems. There was nothing to be afraid of. "His name is Gregrill," she said. "They don't have last names. We'll have to make one up or perhaps use mine." "I'll see my daughter dead before I let her marry a Martian!" Harley roared. "But if she really loves him--" Ethel intruded timorously. "Loves him? Love that miserable scum?" "Dad, please," Joyce said quietly. "You're condemning somebody you've never seen." "I don't have to see him! He's a Martian, isn't he? He has horns, doesn't he?" "They're not horns. They're antennae." "Call them what you like, they're horns!"