She laughed in a way that he hoped would sound drunken and said, “Oh, come on, Edward. I feel marvelous.”

“Okay, darling. Anything you say.” He spoke to her lovingly and then looked up to greet the other couple.

“Nice seeing you, Mr. MacDonnell,” the engineer said. “The orchids are really fine by ringlight.”

“I’d still rather be in bed,” Edward said amiably. “But Mrs. MacDonnell wanted to come out here. She says she could dance till dawn.”

Myra beamed at Strang and Strang and his girl nodded politely at her. Myra never saw people on Belsin. Arthritis had made her life sedentary, and even though Belsin had relieved the pain greatly she had never learned to be sociable. Most of her time was spent reading, listening to music, or puttering around the house.

“More power to you, Mrs. MacDonnell,” Strang said. And then, as they went out on the ledge toward the staircase, “Careful out there, you two!”

There was a meandering walkway, partly carved from obsidian, partly constructed from moonwood, that ran along the cliff face toward a high waterfall. The steps were lighted by hidden electric lights and there was still ringlight from above. There was a safety rail, too, of heavy moonwood, waist high. But it was only a handrail and a person could slip under it. The thing could have been done better, but there was only so much human labor available on the planet for projects of that kind.

The two of them went slowly along the staircase, still in view of Strang and his girl. The light on the orchids was gorgeous. They could hear the sound of the waterfall. It was very cool. Myra was becoming excited. “My God,” she said, “Belsin is really a lovely place. With the grass that sings, and the orchids.” She looked up at the sky. “And those rings.”

“Watch your step,” he said. He looked back at Strang and waved. Then they went around the edge of a cliff, and along a wet obsidian wall where the light glared off the wetness and was for a moment almost blinding. For an instant he thought of pushing her off there, but they were too close to Strang: if there were a struggle it might be heard. They walked along a level place for a while. Myra would look across at the orchids on the other side, with their fans gently changing color in the night air and would gasp at the beauty of them. Sometimes she squeezed his arm strongly or hugged him in her excitement. He knew it was all beautiful, but it had never really touched him and it certainly wasn’t touching him now. He was thinking coolly of the best way to kill Myra. And some part of him was second-guessing, thinking that it might not be bad to go on living with Myra if she got well, that it was cruel to think of killing her just when she was beginning to enjoy her life. But then he thought of her dumbness, of her innocence. He thought of her money.