Perry came to despise and be nauseated by all of these things, but he did not hate the people from which he came, nor loathe himself for being one of them, for he knew these people, and he knew that they were good people, warm-hearted and generous, yes, and brave and courageous. He knew that any one of the posturing morons among those 100%ers would dive under the wheels of a locomotive to rescue a child, that the crooked real-estate promoter would buy a meal for any hungry man, and the vicariously ambitious mother would go without food to buy her daughter a party dress. He knew that kindliness and generosity were as universal as deception and cut-throat competition. Perry realized that not one in a thousand men had ever had a chance to act the decent, honest creature that he potentially was. He knew that the ordinary man from 1939 was too weak-willed and too naive to stand up against the system in which he found himself.

The thing for which Perry most admired the Americans of his period was that in them, potentially, lay 2086. In a short century and a half these callous, kind hearted, gullible, deceitful bumpkins had stumbled and zig-zagged into a culture they could be proud of. Somehow or other (Cathcart's explanations seemed too simple now) the universal longing of the older generations that things might be different for their children had borne fruit. Perhaps that alone had accounted for it. Perhaps to have the desire for better things for our children, and our children's children, than we had for ourselves is to be immortal and to become divine.

Perry had ample opportunity as the days marched by to see this culture as well as to hear about it and view it in shadow show. He visited the socialistic state of Wisconsin which had grown up in its own direction within the framework of the federation. Diana and he spent several days in the Gulf States where there still remained the large group of blacks not yet assimilated by the white majority. Here he found a culture as free as the rest of the country—perhaps less highly mechanized, but undoubtedly richer in arts, and social graces, and zest for living.

Gradually Diana introduced Perry to her friends and helped him over the rough spots in adjusting himself to new social customs. After a few weeks of the casual, easy, good-humored atmosphere of her circle of acquaintances, he felt, and she agreed, that he was ready to get by in any company without betraying the peculiar circumstances of his life. He had acquired some of the modern liking for privacy and decided not to expand the number of those who knew.

One morning about six weeks after his advent Diana announced that she expected a visitor. Perry looked up with interest. "Who is it? Anyone I know?"

"No. It's a young fellow named Bernard. I used to be very close to him. He's a dancer, too. We used to be partners."

"What do you mean, 'used to be very close to him'?"

"Why, I was very fond of him. We lived together about a year."

"What!"

"Why, Perry, what's the matter?"

"What do you mean? Do you mean you lived with him in the sense that we are living together now?"

Her face grew dark. "You've no right to ask that sort of a question. However, I will answer. We lived together, as man and woman, as you and I are doing."

He strode up and down, a black look on his face. Finally he turned and faced her. "Diana, is this your way of telling me that you are through with me?"

She reached out and placed a hand impulsively on his arm. "Why, no, darling. No, No."

He shrugged off her grasp. "Then why do you invite this old flame of yours here? Are you trying to humiliate me?"

Her face was white and tense. "Perry, Perry darling! Nothing of the sort. You mustn't think such things. He is coming because he has occasion to. He and I are billed to appear in a series of dances together. He's coming here to work out the choreography and rehearse."

"Why hadn't I heard about it?"

"There was no reason to discuss it, Perry. We signed the contract last fall and we don't open until the first of May. But now we must rehearse."

He looked up and his face had cleared a little. "You used to love him, Diana?"

"A little. Not as I love you, Perry."

"He means nothing to you, nothing at all?"

"I wouldn't say that. I'm still very fond of him and he was very good to me. We just got bored with each other and split up, but I still count him as a staunch friend."

He looked sulky. "Staunch friend, my foot. I'll bet he's still nuts about you."

Diana looked hurt and bewildered and seemed about to cry. "Perry, Perry, darling. I don't understand you. What is this all about? What have I done to harm you? We were so happy, so very happy, and now all this. It seems so silly. Why? Why?" Tears welled up and spilled over. Perry wore the harassed indignant look of the eternal male confronted with the incomprehensible irrational feminine viewpoint.

"Good Lord! What do you expect? I guess I'm as tolerant and broadminded as the next one, and I've never thought it was my business to go poking my nose into your past, but can't you see that this is a bit thick? When a guy shows up whom you admit is an old lover of yours, and you want me to receive him into the house as a friend of the family, it's too much. Anybody'd be jealous. Don't you think I have my pride?" His face settled into sullen, stubborn lines and the corners of his mouth twitched. "The free and easy business may be all right for casual love-making, but apparently you didn't realize that I was serious. I thought we were married. I thought you felt the same way about me. I didn't know what all this casual immorality you showed me amounted to." He passed his hand over his face. "OK. I've been a sap. But don't you worry. I'll pack up and be out of here in no time. Thanks for everything you've done for me of course. I'll figure up what I owe you and pay you back right away."

Diana stood rigid, her hands clenched and her face screwed up like that of a child whose world has crumbled about her. Scalding tears pressed out of her tight shut eyes and splashed on her breast. He turned to go. She moved quickly and clung to him. "Perry! Perry! No! Don't! What have I done? I don't understand. Please, darling, please. Anything, but don't just leave me alone." She sobbed brokenly. Perry patted her awkwardly. Her sobbing continued. He turned her face up and wiped at her tears.

"Don't cry kid. I can't stand it. And let me go. It's better that way. Stop it, kid, please. Oh Lord, what can I do?" The sobs abated, and died away. She sniffled and gulped.

"Perry, it's some awful mistake. But tell me that you love me and you're not going away."

He looked troubled. "Well, I don't want to go away. Listen, Dian', I love you and I want to stay. Look. Will you call up this mug and tell him to stay away?"

She looked unhappy. "I can't Perry. He'll be here any minute."

"What can we do then?"

"I don't know."

"Christ!" He strode over to the view windows and stared out, his fists jammed against his hips. Diana waited. Then he turned. "Look, Dian'. I guess I'll have to be polite to this guy for today. After he's gone we can figure out what to do about your contract and so forth." She started to speak, then fell silent. "Well?"

"All right, Perry." He smiled and took her in his arms and kissed her. He felt the warm glow of one who has done a magnanimous thing. He could not know that she was still deeply troubled.

As they were finishing lunch they heard the thump of a careless landing overhead. Shortly the door light glowed and there was admitted their guest. He was a young man, tall, well muscled and beautifully made. Perry noted with dissatisfaction his obvious good looks. He greeted Diana with "Hello, beautiful!," swung her off her feet, kissed her, and set her down with a flourish. Diana turned uneasily to Perry.