“Splash him? I thought you were viewing.”

She laughed. “You’re such an Earthman. I’d splash where he was standing in his own room or on his own estate. The water couldn’t touch him, but he would duck just the same. Look at that.”

Baley looked. They had circled a wooded patch and now came upon a clearing, centered about an ornamental pond. Small bricked walks penetrated the clearing and broke it up. Flowers grew in profusion and order. Baley knew them for flowers from book-films he had viewed.

In a way the flowers were like the light-patterns that Gladia constructed and Baley imagined that she constructed them in the spirit of flowers. He touched one cautiously, then looked about. Reds and yellows predominated.

In turning to look about Baley caught a glimpse of the sun.

He said uneasily, “The sun is low in the sky.”

“It’s late afternoon,” called Gladia back to him. She had run toward the pond and was sitting on a stone bench at its edge. “Come here,” she shouted, waving. “You can stand if you don’t like to sit On stone.”

Baley advanced slowly. “Does it get this low every day?” and at once he was sorry he asked. If the planet rotated, the sun must be

low in the sky both mornings and afternoons. Only at midday could it be high.

Telling himself this couldn’t change a lifetime of pictured thought. He knew there was such a thing as night and had even experienced it, with a planet’s whole thickness interposing safely between a man and the sun. He knew there were clouds and a protective grayness hiding the worst of outdoors. And still, when he thought of planetary surfaces, it was always a picture of a blaze of light with a sun high in the sky.

He looked over his shoulder, just quickly enough to get a flash of sun, and wondered how far the house was if he should decide to return.

Gladia was pointing to the other end of the stone bench.

Baley said, “That’s pretty close to you, isn’t it?”

She spread out her little hands, palms up. “I’m getting used to it. Really.”

He sat down, facing toward her to avoid the sun.

She leaned over backward toward the water and pulled a small cup-shaped flower, yellow without and white-streaked within, not at all flamboyant. She said, “This is a native plant. Most of the flowers here are from Earth originally.”

Water dripped from its severed stem as she extended it gingerly toward Baley.

Baley reached for it as gingerly. “You killed it,” he said.

“It’s only a flower. There are thousands more.” Suddenly, before his fingers more than touched the yellow cup, she snatched it away, her eyes kindling. “Or are you trying to imply I could kill a human being because I pulled a flower?”

Baley said in soft conciliation, “I wasn’t implying anything. May I see it?”

Baley didn’t really want to touch it. It had grown in wet soil and there was still the effluvium of mud about it. How could these people, who were so careful in contact with Earthmen and even with one another, be so careless in their contact with ordinary dirt?

But he held the stalk between thumb and forefinger and looked at it. The cup was formed of several thin pieces of papery tissue, curving up from a common center. Within it was a white convex swelling, damp with liquid and fringed with dark hairs that trembled lightly in the wind.

She said, “Can you smell it?”

At once Baley was aware of the odor that emanated from it. He leaned toward it and said, “It smells like a woman’s perfume.”

Gladia clapped her hands in delight. “How like an Earthman. What you really mean is that a woman’s perfume smells like that.”

Baley nodded ruefully. He was growing weary of the outdoors. The shadows were growing longer and the land was becoming somber. Yet he was determined not to give in. He wanted those gray walls of light that dimmed his portrait removed. It was quixotic, but there it was.

Gladia took the flower from Baley, who let it go without reluctance. Slowly she pulled its petals apart. She said, “I suppose every woman smells different.”

“It depends on the perfume,” said Baley indifferently.

“Imagine being close enough to tell. I don’t wear perfume because no one is close enough. Except now. But I suppose you smell perfume often, all the time. On Earth, your wife is always with you, isn’t she?” She was concentrating very hard on the flower, frowning as she plucked it carefully to pieces.

“She’s not always with me,” said Baley. “Not every minute.”

“But most of the time. And whenever you want to—”

Baley said suddenly, “Why did Dr. Leebig try so hard to teach you robotics, do you suppose?”

The dismembered flower consisted now of a stalk and the inner swelling. Gladia twirled it between her fingers, then tossed it away, so that it floated for a moment on the surface of the pond. “I think he wanted me to be his assistant,” she said.

“Did he tell you so, Gladia?”

“Toward the end, Elijah. I think he grew impatient. Anyway, he asked me if I didn’t think it would be exciting to work in robotics. Naturally, I told him I could think of nothing duller. He was quite angry.”

“And he never walked with you again after that.”

She said, “You know, I think that may have been it. I suppose his feelings were hurt. Really, though, what could I do?”

“It was before that, though, that you told him about your quarrels with Dr. Delmarre.”

Her hands became fists and held so in a tight spasm. Her body

held stiffly to its position, head bent and a little to one side. Her voice was unnaturally high. “What quarrels?”

“Your quarrels with your husband. I understand you hated him.” Her face was distorted and blotched as she glared at him. “Who told you that? Jothan?”

“Dr. Leebig mentioned it. I think it’s true.”

She was shaken. “You’re still trying to prove I killed him. I keep thinking you’re my friend and you’re only—only a detective.”

She raised her fists and Baley waited.

He said, “You know you can’t touch me.”

Her hands dropped and she began crying without a sound. She turned her head away.

Baley bent his own head and closed his eyes, shutting out the disturbing long shadows. He said, “Dr. Delmarre was not a very affectionate man, was he?”

She said in a strangled way, “He was a very busy man.”

Baley said, “You are affectionate, on the other hand. You find a man interesting. Do you understand?”

“I c-can’t help it. I know it’s disgusting, but I can’t help it. It’s even disgusting t-to talk about it.”

“You did talk about it to Dr. Leebig, though?”

“I had to do something and Jothan was handy and he didn’t seem to mind and it made me feel better.”

“Was this the reason you quarreled with your husband? Was it that he was cold and unaffectionate and you resented it?”

“Sometimes I hated him.” She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “He was just a good Solarian and we weren’t scheduled for ch—for ch—” She broke down.

Baley waited. His own stomach was cold and open air pressed down heavily upon him. When Gladia’s sobs grew quieter, he asked, as gently as he could, “Did you kill him, Gladia?”

“N-no.” Then, suddenly, as though all resistance had corroded within her: “I haven’t told you everything.”

“Well, then, please do so now.”

“We were quarreling that time, the time he died. The old quarrel.

I screamed at him but he never shouted back. He hardly ever even

said anything and that just made it worse. I was so angry, so angry.

I don’t remember after that.”

“Jehoshaphat!” Baley swayed slightly and his eyes sought the

neutral stone of the bench. “What do you mean you don’t remember?”

“I mean he was dead and I was screaming and the robots came—”

“Did you kill him?”

“I don’t remember it, Elijah, and I would remember it if I did, wouldn’t I? Only I don’t remember anything else, either, and I’ve been so frightened, so frightened. Help me, please, Elijah.”