Joyce hid her disappointment. She had an impulse to say, "Please, please don't mimic our Earthling ways. Stay the way you are. Don't spoil anything. Don't lose what you have." After dinner, Gregrill took her for a walk. Joyce had her thermosuit on now. The Sun was setting, and the startling cold of the Martian night was coming in fast. Gregrill changed his fiber vest for a sleeved jacket, though of the same light material. It was incredible how little protection these people needed against the cold. But, of course, they'd adapted to it. They walked along the edge of the gorge that cut through the stunted forest half a mile from Gregrill's home. The rough sides of the gorge rose sheer and splendid, a marvel of glittering color--red, orange, yellow, brown. Far down on the rocky bed, a shallow stream flowed sluggishly to the south. Soon, as summer came on, the stream would quickly deepen. From the northern ice fields, a torrent of blue water would come rushing down the gorges, and the heavy rains would come, and the red ground underfoot would turn to a miraculous green, and the _mrila_ would sprout up like a rug of green velvet across the wide fields and the terraced hills. If she could only stay here, if they could only build their lives here with these simple, good-hearted people.... But she knew it couldn't be. Gregrill would be wasted here. Earth, despite all its hatefulness for her, was the only place where his genius would have a chance to unfold and display its potentialities. "It is time that we go back?" Gregrill asked. "You are cold?" Suddenly, helplessly, Joyce began to laugh. "What is it?" Gregrill said, confused by the sudden laughter. "The funny stiff way you talk!" She laughed on and on. She couldn't stop. "I am sorry," he said, turning aside, his face full of hurt. "Oh, no!" She caught his arm. "Don't misunderstand. I love the way you talk. I want you always to talk the way you do now. Don't change--please don't ever change. I love you just as you are." * * * * * Gregrill got his visa five days later. It was a complicated affair. Joyce had to sign half a dozen affidavits at the Earthling consulate, all certifying in one way or another that she intended to marry Gregrill as soon as they reached Earth, and that she guaranteed he wouldn't become a public charge. It was practically the only way a Martian had of getting to Earth. It infuriated her, this stupid legislation by which Earth denied itself everything these people could contribute to its culture. A few years ago, the Earthling government had admitted several thousand Martians to fill the pressing shortage of menial labor, and had permitted Venusians to take jobs as room stewards and waiters on the spaceships; and by that trivial concession, it had felt it was fulfilling its obligations to the Interplanetary Union.