and said huskily, "You got enough money to redeem your contract?"

Again Mary shook her head. "No. It's nine hundred and ten dordocs. I have only ninety-three. But I'll have enough in the morning!" She stood up and crossed to the window, looked out toward the spaceport.

"How?"

"Tell us, Mary!"

"Tell you what?" Anne asked, coming into the room. Languidly she drew the door closed behind her and rested against it. "Tell you what?" she insisted, narrowing milky eyes.

"Mary says she can redeem her contract tomorrow."

Anne's wide mouth curled contemptuously. "Nonsense!"

"It's not," said Mary without turning.

Anne glided sensuously across the room to the bed, her tight fitting plastic rippling with her tigerish muscles. She sat down.

"He said he'd take me away, this trip," Mary continued. "He'll sign off, and then we'll both get a ship and go to one of the frontier planets. Where it won't matter about—all this."

Anne laughed harshly. "My God! You believe that?"

"We've both been saving our money," Mary said dreamily. "He's in love with me. He said so."

"Honey, that's what they all say."

Smiling, Mary turned from the window and leaned backward, stretching. "You don't know him. He's different."

"They're all the same," Anne said, her mouth twisting bitterly. "They're just alike. Don't believe any of them."

And Mary said, "With him, it's different. You'll see."

After a moment, Anne said, "That Earthman? That what's-his-name?" Mary nodded, and Anne brushed an imaginary something off her knee. "An Earthman," Anne said. "They're the worst of all."

"You don't know him, or you wouldn't say that."

Adele looked away from Anne. "You love him, don't you, Mary?"

"Yes."

"You're a fool," Anne said. "Listen to me. Love a man? God! You'll see. After him, there'll be another and another, and—just like Rosy—you'll watch 'em leave you and laugh at you until finally you're hurt so bad you don't think you can stand being hurt any more, and then along comes another one, and it starts all over again, and then one night you take a razor blade and go to the sink and stick out your throat and...."

"No! No! You're wrong! He's not like the rest!"

Anne leaned back carelessly, resting, propped on one hand. "See. You know I'm right, already."

"You're not!"

Anne shrugged. "Honey, tell me that tomorrow night."

"I better go take my cake out," Mary said. She fled the room in a swirl of shimmering glastic.

Anne sneered, "I don't see why Miss Bestris puts up with her the way she does."

"You're jealous," June said quietly.

Anne did not answer.

"Mary's decent," Adele said. "Maybe that's why. She's from the sticks, and her parents still come to see her on visiting days, and there's something about her so—so innocent. Maybe that's why Miss Bestris likes her."

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