"How long has it been, Anita? Five, six years?"

"Not since before you got to be manager. That long." She was hale, enthusiastic about Finnerty's coming. It annoyed Paul, because he knew very well that she didn't care for Finnerty. She was crowing, not because she was fond of Finnerty but because she enjoyed the ritual attitudes of friendships, of which she had none. Also, since he'd left Ilium, Ed Finnerty had become a man of consequence, a member of the National Industrial Planning Board; and this fact no doubt dulled her recollections of contretemps with Finnerty in the past.

"You're right about that being good news, Anita. It's wonderful. Takes the edge off Kroner and Baer."

"Now, you're going to be nice to them, too."

"Oh yes. Pittsburgh, here we come."

"If I tell you something for your own good, promise not to get mad?"

"No."

"All right, I'll tell you anyway. Amy Halporn said this morning she'd heard something about you and Pittsburgh. Her husband was with Kroner today, and Kroner had the impression that you didn't want to go to Pittsburgh."

"How does he want me to tell him - in Esperanto? I've told him I wanted the job a dozen different ways in English."

"Apparently Kroner doesn't feel you really mean it. You've been too subtle and modest, darling."

"Kroner's a bright one, all right."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean he's got more insight into me than I do."

"You mean you don't want the Pittsburgh job?"

"I'm not sure. He apparently knew that before I did."

"You're tired, darling."

"I guess."

"You need a drink. Come home early."

"All right."

"I love you, Paul."

"I love you, Anita. Goodbye."

Anita had the mechanics of marriage down pat, even to the subtlest conventions. If her approach was disturbingly rational, systematic, she was thorough enough to turn out a creditable counterfeit of warmth. Paul could only suspect that her feelings were shallow - and perhaps that suspicion was part of what he was beginning to think of as his sickness.