Brion took a deep breath. He was in over his head and far from shore. "Well--take a bachelor like myself. Since I like cross-country skiing I make my home in this big house our family has, right at the edge of the Broken Hills. In summer I looked after a drumtum herd, but after slaughtering my time was my own all winter. I did a lot of skiing, and used to work for the Twenties. Sometimes I would go visiting. Then again, people would drop in on me--houses are few and far between on Anvhar. We don't even have locks on our front doors. You accept and give hospitality without qualification. Whoever comes. Male--female--in groups or just traveling alone--" "I get the drift. Life must be dull for a single girl on your iceberg planet, she must surely have to stay home a lot." "Only if she wants to. Otherwise she can go wherever she wishes and be welcomed as another individual. I suppose it is out of fashion in the rest of the galaxy--and would probably raise a big laugh on Earth--but a platonic, disinterested friendship between man and woman is an accepted thing on Anvhar." "Sounds exceedingly dull. If you are all such cool and distant friends, what keeps your birthrate going?" Brion felt his ears flushing, not quite sure if he was being teased or not. "There are plenty of happy marriages. But it is up to the woman always to indicate if she is interested in a man. A girl who isn't interested won't get any proposals. I imagine this is a lot different from other planets--but so is our world. The system works well enough for us." "Just about the opposite of Earth," Lea told him, dropping the apple core into a dish and carefully licking the tips of her fingers. "I guess you Anvharians would describe Earth as a planetary hotbed of sin. The reverse of your system, and going full blast all the time. There are far too many people there for comfort. Birth control came late and is still being fought--if you can possibly imagine that. There are just too many crack-brained ideas that have been long entrenched in custom. The world's overcrowded. Men, women, children, a boiling mob wherever you look. And all of the physically mature ones seem to be involved in the Great Game of Love. The male is always the aggressor, and women take the most outrageous kinds of flattery for granted. At parties these are always a couple of hot breaths of passion fanning your neck. A girl has to keep her spike heels filed sharp." "She has to _what_--?" "A figure of speech, Brion. Meaning you fight back all the time, if you don't want to be washed under by the flood." "Sounds rather"--Brion weighed the word before he said it, but could find none other suitable--"repellent." "From your point of view, it would be. I'm afraid we get so used to it that we even take it for granted. Sociologically speaking--" She stopped and looked at Brion's straight back and almost rigid posture. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in an unspoken _oh_ of sudden realization.