When would it learn what its narrow prejudices were costing? Would it have to wait till someone like Gregrill stepped forward and demonstrated all the richness it was missing? The formal good-bys had been said. The neighbors had held a party for them. It had been in a clearing behind the houses, out in the clean, lemon-yellow sunlight. They had eaten roasted _trork_, the crustacean delicacy from the northern gorges, and _mrila_ made into candied patties. Gregrill's mother and father had danced the grave, stately farewell dance. And now, on their final evening on Mars, Joyce and Gregrill were taking their last walk along the deep, echoing gorge. She had just been watching him finish his packing, and the pain of it still sat in her throat. He had included his college books--every one of his texts and notebooks--packing them in so reverently, so pathetically confident that all he had to do was follow his classroom precepts, and recognition and success would come tumbling into his hands.... "I hope that your parents will like me as well as my parents like you," Gregrill said. "Oh, yes," Joyce assured him hoarsely. "Perhaps they will not be pleased that you marry a Martian." "No, Greg, no. They'll--" But she couldn't carry it on. He turned to face her; he looked at her hard. He was starting to speak, to ask the obvious questions, but she flung herself against him. "Greg! Let's get married here! Let's get married before we leave." He held her away from him so he could look at her. "But you had wished to be married on Earth," he said bewilderedly. "I know, but I've changed my mind. I want it here, now. Oh, Greg, I'm afraid...." His big russet eyes narrowed, his high-winged nostrils flared, scenting danger. "You are afraid of what?" he asked quietly. "I don't know, Greg. I--I'm just afraid something will happen, something will go wrong, I don't know what." She couldn't look him in the eyes. "Let's get married here, in the morning, before we leave. Then we'll be married. "Nothing can go wrong." "Will not your parents be angered that you--" "No, no, Greg. It'll be all right. This is the best way, believe me." "I believe you," he said gravely. And it caught her again, his small-boy solemnity. She was caught in a burst of helpless laughter. "Oh, Greg, I love you!" * * * * * They were married by a Martian priest in a small red-draped temple in Memnonia, not far from the spaceport. The ceremony was without words, like all religious rites on Mars. The tall, round-bodied priest, a huge cylinder of a man in heavy ritual fiber robes, stood facing them, his hands stiff against his sides, his eyes closed, his heavy features motionless.