"That's her problem, Andy. You have your own life to live. Why shouldn't you be able to live it as you choose? You don't know just what sort of a life the future holds for you--but you do know what you'll find here." He gripped his knees hard, finally shook his head. "This is something bigger than we are, Ellen--something more important than your personal happiness, or mine. It isn't just that Nela is depending on me. Behind her is a whole civilization. It's the greatest responsibility a man can be given. If I backed down, I'd never feel right again. I'd always have it on my conscience." She slumped in despair. "Then there's nothing else I can do to change your mind?" "Nothing, Ellen. I'm sorry." Silence closed down again. A painful, uneasy silence, the silence of people between whom an unsurmountable barrier exists. The silence added fuel to Pearce's inner turmoil. He wished that it had been possible to leave without hurting Ellen, even without discovering that she returned his own feelings. The knowledge that he would never see her again had been difficult enough to face. For in these last months the picture of her had come to haunt him--Ellen, with her shining dark hair and her slim vital body, at once gaily humorous and warmly sympathetic. He knew that he would never forget her, or cease thinking of the happiness he might have found with her. "It might be a good idea to wipe that lipstick off your face, Andy," Ellen murmured at last. Pearce fumbled for a handkerchief and scrubbed at his mouth. The action brought forward something that had been hovering at the back of his mind. "What about Dave?" he asked abruptly. "I hope I haven't spoiled anything for him." * * * * * She shook her head with a grave seriousness. "Dave knows how I feel. And it isn't much of a loss where he's concerned, because he's been taking a growing interest in Susie. She has a terrific crush on him, and that's the reason she wanted to come with us so badly today. But you insisted on a three-sided party and as usual left Dave to nursemaid me." Pearce felt a dull amazement. Engrossed with his preparations for leaving he had not sensed the emotional undercurrents beneath the outwardly placid surface of Dave and Ellen. Ellen, he thought suddenly. Dave was accounted for--but Ellen? He could not voice the question, feeling himself too inextricably bound up in it. There was the sound of footsteps as Fuller returned, brandishing a bottle. "Here it is!" he announced. "Get out the glasses, Ellen." She produced three plastic tumblers from the basket, and Fuller poured a generous drink in each. He raised his own tumbler in a solemn gesture. "Here's to Andy. Bon voyage--and a high old time in the future!" "Thanks," Pearce said in self-conscious acknowledgement. He swallowed the whisky in a gulp, felt its raw warmth spread through him.