“What is your name?”

“Oceaxe.”

“And where do you come from?”

“Ifdawn.”

These contemptuous replies began to irritate him, and yet the mere sound of her voice was fascinating.

“I am going there tomorrow,” he remarked.

She laughed, as if against her will, but made no comment.

“My name is Maskull,” he went on.  “I am a stranger—­from another world.”

“So I should judge, from your absurd appearance.”

“Perhaps it would be as well to say at once,” said Maskull bluntly, “are we, or are we not, to be friends?”

She yawned and stretched her arms, without rising.  “Why should we be friends?  If I thought you were a man, I might accept you as a lover.”

“You must look elsewhere for that.”

“So be it, Maskull!  Now go away, and leave me in peace.”

She dropped her head again to the ground, but did not at once close her eyes.

“What are you doing here?” he interrogated.

“Oh, we Ifdawn folk occasionally come here to sleep, for there often enough it is a night for us which has no next morning.”

“Being such a terrible place, and seeing that I am a total stranger, it would be merely courteous if you were to warn me what I have to expect in the way of dangers.”

“I am perfectly and utterly indifferent to what becomes of you,” retorted Oceaxe.

“Are you returning in the morning?” persisted Maskull.

“If I wish.”

“Then we will go together.”

She got up again on her elbow.  “Instead of making plans for other people, I would do a very necessary thing.”

“Pray, tell me.”

“Well, there’s no reason why I should, but I will.  I would try to convert my women’s organs into men’s organs.  It is a man’s country.”

“Speak more plainly.”

“Oh, it’s plain enough.  If you attempt to pass through Ifdawn without a sorb, you are simply committing suicide.  And that magn too is worse than useless.”

“You probably know what you are talking about, Oceaxe.  But what do you advise me to do?”

She negligently pointed to the light-emitting stone lying on the ground.

“There is the solution.  If you hold that drude to your organs for a good while, perhaps it will start the change, and perhaps nature will do the rest during the night.  I promise nothing.”

Oceaxe now really turned her back on Maskull.

He considered for a few minutes, and then walked over and to where the stone was lying, and took it in his hand.  It was a pebble the size of a hen’s egg, radiant with crimson light, as though red-hot, and throwing out a continuous shower of small, blood-red sparks.

Finally deciding that Oceaxe’s advice was good, he applied the drude first to his magn, and then to his breve.  He experienced a cauterising sensation—­a feeling of healing pain.