June said, "I think she's better than the rest of us. I think Miss Bestris feels sorry for her in a way."

"Don't make me laugh," Anne said, facing June. "The only one that'll ever feel sorry for her is herself!"

"You shouldn't have talked like that to her!" June snapped. "Why don't you let her alone? She'll feel bad enough without you helping!"

Anne rolled over on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. June took a helox lamp from her drawer and started to bake her hair darker. Those Earthmen were so funny about colors.

In the kitchen, Mary took the cake out of the oven. It was steamy and light and fluffy, and it smelled sweet and warm. She set it on the table and mixed a two-minute green frosting which she spread, carefully, over the cake. She patted here and there with the spatula and stood back, her eyes proud and serious.

She hummed a little tune under her breath as she scrubbed the pots and pans. Her hands moved in practiced rhythm, and the water splashed and gurgled. When the kitchen was again spotless, she looked once more at the cake, and then, turning out the light, she went back to her room.

Anne and Adele had left, but June was sitting quietly in the dusky moonlight. Her white dress seemed vaguely luminous.

Laughing, Mary flicked on the light.

"It's a wonderful cake," she said. "The best one I ever made. Just the way it should be."

"I wouldn't feel too bad, Mary, if he doesn't come to eat it," June said. "I don't want to sound like Anne, but there was a lot of sense in what she said."

"It's just like a real wedding cake." She hummed the s.n.a.t.c.h of Martian tune. "Like in the tele-papers." She laughed with her eyes. "The bridegroom takes the silver knife and cuts two large pieces of the cake while the bride, dressed in filament coral, stands at his right hand.

She carries a bouquet of--Anne just likes to be mean!"

June frowned. Mary crossed to the dressing table. She studied her face in the mirror. It was heart shaped, elfin; her purple hair was a riot of curls, and her eyes were amethyst and gold. She smiled at herself. "I want to look as pretty as I can tonight." She twisted around. "You don't think he'll come either, do you?"

"I--no, Mary."

Mary looked back at the mirror. "He likes our ca.n.a.l blossom perfume."

She dabbed some of it on her ear lobes. "I like it best, too."

June stood up, crossed to the musikon, found a slow five-toned waltz.

She turned the music very low, and left the color mixer dim enough so that only the faintest ghosts projected hues moved on walls and ceiling.

Mary continued to stare into the mirror. "But he will come. I know it."

June said nothing.

"Don't you see. I just _know_ he'll come."

June crossed back to her seat.

Mary turned from the mirror. "I'm sure he will. He's--I mean...."

June smiled wanly.

"Well, he will! You'll see!"

June said, "Even if it is an old dress, you look very nice in it."

"I've been learning his language. I can say 'thank you' and 'yes' and 'no' and 'I love you' and all kinds of things in it. He gave me a book, and I've been studying. I want to be able really to talk with him. We've got a lot to talk about. I want to find out about his parents, and what he likes for supper and what kind of music he likes to hear, and--and all sorts of things. I want to find out all about his planet, and...."

"Yes," June said wearily, "I know."

The music played on. The moving lights on the walls were like colored reflections from a sunlit river.

"He may be a little late tonight; he has a lot to do, first. But he'll be here."

_Buzzzzz_....

It was the red b.u.t.ton; it blinked on and off.

"Visitors," June said.

"Look--" Mary said. "Look, June. I'm not half ready yet. Look. Tell Miss Bestris I'll be down a little late. Tell her I have a special boy, and it'll be all right. He wants me to wait for him."

June was on her feet. "... All right. You'd better not wait too long!"

"I won't."

After June was gone, Mary returned to the task of making her face pretty, but after a moment, she turned from the mirror, leaned back, and tried to relax. Underneath her dress, her heart was pounding.

The warm air carried sounds of the night creatures. One of the great ca.n.a.l insects, screeching, flapped by the window. The tiny third moon crept up over the horizon, and the buildings cast triple shadows.

_Buzzz. Buzzzz._

Still Mary waited.

_Buzzz. Buzzzz. Buzzzzzz...._

She was afraid to wait any longer. But by now she was sure that he would be down stairs.

There was a last-minute flurry of combing and primping, and then she rustled out of the room, her head erect, her eyes shining.

The large reception room was filling. Overhead, the color organ threw shimmering, prismatic beams on the ceiling. Beneath it, stiff, embarra.s.sed s.p.a.cemen, mostly officers dressed in parade uniforms, chatted in s.p.a.ce-pidgin with the laughing, rainbow-haired girls.

Miss Bestris sat in one corner, her eyes roving the room: settling here for a second, there for a second, checking, approving, disapproving, silently. Occasionally she would smile or nod at one of the girls or one of the s.p.a.cemen, and once she frowned ever so slightly and shook her head.

Anne was reclining on a couch, eating a golden Martian apple, listening to a second mate; she played with a lock of his hair and smiled her wide smile.

June, angelic, sat primly in a straight-backed chair, the captain at her feet, a boyish, s.p.a.ce-pale Earthman, drew embarra.s.sed circles on the carpet with his index finger.

In the next room, three couples were dancing to the slow music of an Earth orchestra.

An inner door opened, and a uniformed native sheriff stepped in, a crisp, military figure. "Miss Bestris?"

She stood up. "Yes?"

The Earthmen fell silent, waiting.