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"It's vitally important, Rona. Not only for us, but for the entire human race."

Her lips touched his gently for a moment. "You talk too much, Brad."

He whispered: "We'll take it up later." Then he embraced her tightly and automatically practiced phase one of the prescribed procedure of the International College of Erotic Culture. Rona seemed to melt in his arms. Presently he got around to reading the green lettering at the top of her stockings.

It said: If you can read this you're too close.

"Was Lecia nicer than me?" Rona asked felinely.

He considered. "She was different."

"All women are different. Didn't you know, darling?"

"Some are more different than others."

She pouted. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

He put a languid arm around her. "I mean that you're more different than most."

"In what way?"

"I can't find the right word. Something fundamental. So many women these days take lovemaking as a matter of routine. Somehow you don't, Rona. You make it personal . . . intimate."

"That's the way it should be, Brad. You're not so bad yourself." She paused, eyeing him speculatively.

"You going to stay the night?" she asked.

"Is that what you want?"

She nodded slowly.

"Well, Rona, it depends on you. I came here for a reason. If you're co-operative the way I want, then I'll stay."

For a few moments she eyed him coldly and laconically.