"No." It was definite. "It's more than that. You've been a rocket man all your life. You don't get nervous any more." His fingers twisted the glass. Something else twisted his voice. "There are things in it that might make a man nervous, Mary. Black winds. Burning worlds. Holes in space waiting for him. You think it might be that, Mary?" "No." "But this is Alpha Centauri. This is faster-than-light." He bowed. "This is when baby-God Hastings tests his brain child ... when the electron lightscope goes to bat. You think it might be that, Mary?" "Don't make nasty fun." * * * * * Her husband regarded her a long, serious moment. "No. You're right again." Leaning in to her, he spoke softly. "Did you know, Mary, that it isn't the big things that make a man nervous any more? Only the little things--" "Say it!" she insisted. "Get it out. You'll feel better." He hadn't moved. "Just the very little things. A supper unradiated. An empty wrap hanger. An unfilled chair. Emptiness where there should be something." "Where has there been emptiness?" Mary was surprised. "Between us." "Oh darling ... that just isn't so." "Isn't it?" He took her hands. "Cards on the table, Mary. Right?" "Right!" "You've been going to meetings for the last month." "It's my turn on the committee." "You've been out late quite a bit." "I can't leave till they check me out...." "There have been other people there." She pulled her hands away and escaped to the other side of the room. "Lots of them." "But there was _one_ face in particular." "Oh." There was a finality in it. "Who told you?" "Does that matter?" His hand waved it aside. "Why didn't you tell me Charles Lathrop was on the committee with you?" "Because I knew how you'd feel." Instantly, she was at his side. "Oh darling, don't you suppose I know what you think? You've never accepted the fact that when I married you, my feeling for him was over and done." "Is that true?" "Yes, yes, yes! Can't you understand? What I felt for him four or five years ago was that young thing everyone goes through." "Young things grow. Great oaks...." "Not this one. When you came, it was over. Is over." He shook his head, and passed his hand over his face. "God knows I want to believe that. You're my wife, Mary. I love every bit of you. But Lathrop keeps bobbing up." The fire crackled like dry leaves, rouging the unhappy walls. "There are more questions?" she wanted to know. "Yes." "Ask them." "Did you know he was going to be on the committee?" "Of course not." "Forgive me, Mary, but--but have you spent any extra time with him?" "Oh John! We _talk_ at the meetings--'Hello--it's a roaring day--have you heard the latest about Ganymede?'" "That's all?" "I swear." "You don't feel anything?" "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He's a friend, a brother, a comfortable dog."