The first two men to lay hands on the two tall Tellurian beauties were, by common consent and without argument, their first partners. Two of the Vegian girls, however, were not so polite. Both had hold of Joe, one by each arm, and stood there spitting insults at each other past his face until a man standing near by snapped a few words at them and flipped a coin. The two girls, each still maintaining her grip, leaned over eagerly to see for themselves the result of the toss. The loser promptly relinquished her hold on Joe and the winner danced away with him. “Oh, this is _wonderful_, Storm!” Joan thought. “We’ve been _accepted_—we’re the first group I ever actually _knew_ of to really break through the crust.” The Vegians moved away. Vesta released her captives and turned to her brother. “Captain Cloud, Doctor Janowick, I present to you my brother Zamke,” she said. Then, to her brother: “They have been very good to me, Zambktpkn, both of them, but especially the captain. You know what he did for me.” “Yes, I know.” The brother spoke the English “S” with barely a trace of hardness. He shook Cloud’s hand firmly, then bent over the hand, spreading it out so that the palm covered his face, and inhaled deeply. Then, straightening up: “For what you have done for my sister, sir, I thank you. As she has said, your scent is pleasing and will be remembered long, enshrined in the Place of Pleasant Odors of our house.” Turning to Joan, and omitting the handshake, he repeated the performance and bowed—and when an adult male Vegian sets out to make a production of bowing, it is a production well worth seeing. Then, with the suddenest and most complete change of manner either Cloud or Joan had ever seen he said: “Well, now that the formalities have been taken care of, Joan, how about us hopping a couple of skips around the floor?” Joan was taken slightly aback, but rallied quickly. “Why, I’d love it . . . but not knowing either the steps or the music, I’m afraid I couldn’t follow you very well.” “Oh that won’t make any. . . .” Zamke began, but Vesta drowned him out. “Of _course_ it won’t make any difference, Joan!” she exclaimed. “Just go ahead and dance any way you want to. He’ll match your steps—and if he so much as touches one of your slippers with his big, fat feet, I’ll choke him to death with his own tail!” “And I suppose it is irrefutable that you can and will dance with me with equal dexterity, aplomb, and insouciance?” Cloud asked Vesta, quizzically, after Joan and Zamke had glided smoothly out into the throng. “You zaid it, little chum!” Vesta exclaimed, gleefully. “And I know what all those words mean, too, and if I ztep on either one of _your_ feet I’ll choke _my_ zelf to death with my _own_ tail, zo there!”