Here--" He thought of his pocket atlas, supplied by the department as a part of his service kit, and remembered that in the back of it was a small map of the world.

In half a minute he had secured it and was holding the map under her eyes.

Her little forefinger touched Copenhagen.

Leaning over her shoulder, he felt her hair crumpling against his breast.

He felt an insane desire to bury his face in it and hug her up close in his arms--for a single moment the question of whether she came from Copenhagen or the moon was irrelevant and of little consequence.