tame rings, earbobs."
Cherry said rebelliously, "Morey, I have a lavaliere.
Please, dear!"
Morey folded back the pages of the list uncertainly.
The lavaliere was on there, all right, and no alternative
selection was shown.
"How about a bracelet?" he coaxed. "Look, they have
some nice ruby ones there. See how beautifully they go
with your hair, darling!" He beckoned a robot clerk, who
busded up and handed Cherry the bracelet tray. "Lovely,"
Morey exclaimed as Cherry slipped the largest of the lot
on her wrist.
"And I don't have to have a lavaliere?" Cherry asked.
"Of course not." He peeked at the tag. "Same number
of ration points exactly!" Since Cherry looked only
dubious, not convinced, he said briskly, "And now we'd
better be getting along to the shoe department. I've got
to pick up some dancing pumps."
Cherry made no objection, neither then nor throughout
the rest of their shopping tour. At the end, while they
were sitting in the supermarket's ground-floor lounge wait-
ing for the robot accountants to tote up their bill and the
robot cashiers to stamp their ration books, Morey re-
membered to have the shipping department save out the
bracelet.
"I don't want that sent with the other stuff, darling," he
explained. "I want you to wear it right now. Honestly, I
don't think I ever saw anything looking so right for you."
Cherry looked flustered and pleased. Morey was de-
lighted with himself; it wasn't everybody who knew how
to handle these little domestic problems just right!
He stayed self-satisfied all the way home, while Henry,
their companion-robot, regaled them with funny stories of
the factory in which it had been built and trained. Cherry
wasn't used to Henry by a long shot, but it was hard not
to like the robot. Jokes and funny stories when you
needed amusement, sympathy when you were depressed,
a never-failing supply of news and information on any
subject you cared to nameHenry was easy enough to
take. Cherry even made a special point of asking Henry
to keep them company through dinner, and she laughed
as thoroughly as Morey himself at its droll anecdotes.
But later, in the conservatory, when Henry had con-
siderately left them alone, the laughter dried up.
Morey didn't notice. He was very conscientiously mak-
ing the rounds: turning on the tri-D, selecting their after-
dinner liqueurs, scanning the evening newspapers.
Cherry cleared her throat self-consciously, and Morey
stopped what he was doing. "Dear," she said tentatively,
"I'm feeling kind of restless tonight. Could we1 mean
