"Of course ... Lew." She gestured at the musical instrument. "This is very old. Most find its music ... well, rather weird. It's been handed down for generations in mother's family." "The kaithra," said Orne. "My sisters play it. Been a long time since I've heard one." "Oh, of course," she said. "Your mother's--" She stopped, looked confused. "I've got to get used to the fact that you're.... I mean that we have a strange man around the house who isn't _exactly_ strange." Orne grinned. In spite of the blue I-A fatigues and a rather severe pulled-back hairdo, this was a handsome woman. He found himself liking her, and this caused him a feeling near self-loathing. She was a suspect. He couldn't afford to like her. But the Bullones were being so decent, taking him in like this. And how was their hospitality being repaid? By spying and prying. Yet, his first loyalty belonged to the I-A, to the peace it represented. He said rather lamely: "I hope you get over the feeling that I'm strange." "I'm over it already," she said. She linked arms with him, said: "If you feel up to it, I'll take you on the deluxe guided tour." By nightfall, Orne was in a state of confusion. He had found Diana fascinating, and yet the most comfortable woman to be around that he had ever met. She liked swimming, _paloika_ hunting, _ditar_ apples-- She had a "poo-poo" attitude toward the older generation that she said she'd never before revealed to anyone. They had laughed like fools over utter nonsense. Orne went back to his room to change for dinner, stopped before the polawindow. The quick darkness of these low latitudes had pulled an ebon blanket over the landscape. There was city-glow off to the left, and an orange halo to the peaks where Marak's three moons would rise. _Am I falling in love with this woman?_ he asked himself. He felt like calling Stetson, not to report but just to talk the situation out. And this made him acutely aware that Stetson or an aide had heard everything said between them that afternoon. * * * * * The autobutle called dinner. Orne changed hurriedly into a fresh lounge uniform, found his way to the small salon across the house. The Bullones already were seated around an old-fashioned bubble-slot table set with real candles, golden _shardi_ service. Two of Marak's moons could be seen out the window climbing swiftly over the peaks. "You turned the house," said Orne. "We like the moonrise," said Polly. "It seems more romantic, don't you think?" She glanced at Diana. Diana looked down at her plate. She was wearing a low-cut gown of _firemesh_ that set off her red hair. A single strand of _Reinach_ pearls gleamed at her throat. Orne sat down in the vacant seat opposite her. _What a handsome woman!_ he thought.