Guy was proud. Very proud and very happy. The rayed stars on his lapels gave him a lift that acted as a firm foundation for the presence of Laura Greggor, whose company always lifted him high. Her hand was at his elbow in a slightly possessive manner, and he was deliriously happy at the idea of belonging to Laura Greggor. They swept into the Silver Star, and though he was unknown, the rayed stars of the senior executive gained him quite a bit more deference than he had ever known as a junior. He'd been in the Silver Star before; usually it was too rich for his blood, but he had one year's salary in his wallet, and the increase in rank warranted shooting the whole wad. He palmed a twenty solar note into the head waiter's hand, and the head waiter led them to a ringside table and removed the "Reserved" sign. As they settled, Guy said: "'Reserved'? For whom?" "What?" asked Laura. "Nothing," said Guy cynically. A great truth had dawned upon him. Before, he had been refused the better tables because they were reserved. Now he knew that they were reserved for the ones who could pay for them. "Dance?" Laura was peering into the haze of cigarette smoke and answered absently: "Not now. I want a cigarette first." Maynard handed over the little cylinder and snapped his lighter. Laura drew deeply, and then turned to scan the crowd once more. She satisfied herself, and then smoked the cigarette down to the last drag before consenting to dance. "I'm a little rusty," he apologized. "We don't do much dancing in a destroyer." "I'm afraid not," answered Laura. "You are as light as ever," he told her. He didn't like the inference; obviously she had been dancing long and often while he was gone. "Forget it," said Laura, catching his thought. She put her forehead against his chin and sent his pulse racing. Too soon the dance was over, and he followed her to their table. Guy offered Laura another cigarette, and as he was lighting it, a young man in evening clothes came over and greeted them with a cheery "Hello!" Maynard went to his feet, but the stranger draped himself indolently into a chair which he lifted from a vacant table adjoining. Maynard shrugged, and sat down, feeling slightly overlooked. "Hi, Laura, what brings you here?" "He does," said Laura, nodding across the table to Guy. "Guy Maynard, this is Martin Ingalls." Greetings were exchanged, and each man took the other's measure. "Senior executive, hey?" smiled Ingalls. "That's something!" "Oh," said Maynard cheerfully, "they think I've been useful." "Keep 'em thinking that," suggested Ingalls, "and you'll get along fine." "He'll get along fine," offered Laura. "But what are you doing here?" "Oh, Timmy and Alice hauled me in for dinner. They're over there." "Well! Let's join them!" * * * * *