Hedgerly smiled tolerantly. "The discoverer of the Hedgerly Effect does not become involved with space travel," he pointed out with a knowing air. "He does become the layer of the cornerstone for Time Travel, which we believe is as important." Peter looked glumly at Joan. "Methinks of suicide," he groaned. "I invent Time Travel and for the next million years my invention becomes the curse of mankind. Pandora's Box never let out any trouble-scorpion as bad as people like my temporally-gadding grandson!" "Now, grandpop, don't be bitter," laughed Hedgerly. "Grandpop?" yelled Peter. "I'll--" The doorbell rang, interrupting a string of threats. Hedgerly stepped springily to the door, opened it, and said: "Please come in, Miss Baker. We're expecting you." Peter whistled. Joan hissed. The room became three degrees warmer. Miss Marie Baker was curvaceous. Miss Marie Baker was dressed to prove it. Miss Marie Baker knew it. The Petty-Girl calendar on Peter's living room wall took on a drab and lumpy appearance and on the table beside the divan, a magazine cover became blank as the model headed for the powder room. Marie Baker spoke, and Arthur Sullivan moved in his grave because the sound of her voice was that reminiscent of that great Lost Chord of music. "I'm quite mystified," she said. Hedgerly took her slender hand. "Please come in," he said. "And we'll try to explain. You've come, Marie, to be introduced to your future husband!" The door behind Marie filled again--and filled is the proper term. He stood six feet four, the floor creaked under his two hundred and twelve pounds of sheer muscle, and the litheness of his step carried him with pantherine grace. "May I point out," he said in a voice that reeked of Harvard, Cambridge, and a complete disregard of the letter 'R,' "that Miss Baker may be already acquainted with her future husband?" Hedgerly faced the giant. "Please," he said in a pained voice. "I'm having enough trouble now without your unwelcome aid. Any relationship between you and Marie Baker must shortly become, at best, platonic." A small brass figurine of Rodin's Discobolus took a sidelong look and made the brazen observation that being platonic with such as Miss Baker was an idea never suggested by his friend Plato. Plato had too much sense. "Just how do you figure in this?" demanded the giant. "Have we met?" asked Hedgerly. "I'm Anthony Graydon. And my query goes still." "Pleased to know you, Mr. Graydon. I trust your intentions toward Miss Baker are simple?" "Miss Baker happens to be wearing my engagement ring," returned Graydon. Hedgerly looked, and saw a bit of glitter about the size of a small pigeon's egg on her left hand. Hedgerly shook his head sadly. "May I introduce Miss Willson?" he suggested. "Miss Willson, will you meet Mr. Graydon? Perhaps, Mr. Graydon, the no-longer-needed engagement ring will fit Miss Willson."