"Some people I know would call it living," she said. "Darling?" "Yes, Richard." "I've a confession to make. I've liked being out in space with you. I've liked the uncertainty, the danger--the desperate chances we both took with our lives." "I'm glad, Richard." "I don't glow outwardly--you know that. You've had a lot to contend with. I've reproached you, and tried to put a damper on your enthusiasm, and--" "You've been a wonderful husband, Richard." "But as a lover--" "Richard, do you remember what you said to me when we were roaring through the red skies above Io? You held my fingers so tightly I was afraid you'd break them, and your kisses were as fiery as a girl could ask for. And you said I reminded you of someone you'd always loved, and that was why you'd married me. "And when I scowled and asked her name you said she had no name and had never existed on Earth. But that I had her eyes and hair and thoughts, and was just as slim, and that when I walked I reminded you of her, and even when I just sat on the pilot dais staring out into space. "I knew then that you had always been in love with love, and that means everything to a woman." "I didn't do so badly then?" "Richard, you've never done badly at any time. Do you think I could love a man who was all flattery and blather?" "I've always loved you, Joan." "I know, Richard my darling." "If only it didn't have to end." "It will be over swiftly, dearest. They'll take us out into the mist and into one of their nests, but we'll be beyond pain ten seconds after the atmosphere enters our lungs. Darnel and Dawson are at peace now." "But we could have gone on, and--" I broke off in stunned bewilderment. The vibrating wings of the wasps beneath me seemed to be casting less massive shadows on the walls of the pilot chamber. The wasps themselves seemed to be-- My heart gave a sudden, violent leap. For perhaps ten seconds utter incredulity enveloped me. Unmistakably the wasps had grown smaller, dimmer. Even as I stared they continued to dwindle, shedding their awesome contours and becoming no larger than ourselves. "Good God!" I exclaimed. "Richard, what is it?" "The wasps, Joan. They're getting smaller!" "Richard, you're either stark, raving mad, or your vision is swimming from the strain of watching them." "No, Joan. I'm quite sane, and my eyes are all right. I tell you, they're shrinking." "Richard, how _could_ they shrink?" "I--I don't know. Perhaps--wait a minute, Joan. _Eddington's oscillations._" "Eddington's _what_?"