The woman, dark-haired, attractive, wearing slacks and a brightly checkered cotton shirt, lithe and youthful-looking, approached. "Welcome to Marin County," she said to Pete.

"We don't see much of you, Mr. Garden." She held out her hand, and they shook.

"I congratulate you," Pete said.

"For having three children?" Mrs. McClain smiled. "As they say, it's luck. Not skill. How about a cup of coffee before you leave Marin County? After all, you may never be back again."

"I'll be back," Pete said.

"Indeed." The woman did not seem convinced; her handsome smile was tinged with irony. "You know, you're almost a legend to us non-Bs in this area, Mr. Garden. Gosh, we'll be able to liven conversations for weeks to come, telling about our meeting you."

For the life of him Pete could not tell if Mrs. McClain was being sardonic; despite her words, her tone was neutral. She baffled him and he felt confused. "I really will be back," he said. "I've lost Berkeley, where I—"

"Oh," Mrs. McClain said, nodding. Her effective, commanding smile increased. "I see. Bad luck at The Game. That's why you're visiting us."

"I'm on my way to New Mexico," Pete said, and got into his car. "Possibly I'll see you later on." He closed the car door. "Take off," he instructed the auto-auto.

As the car rose the two children waved. Mrs. McClain did not. Why such animosity? Pete wondered. Or had he only imagined it? Perhaps she resented the existence of the two separate groups, Band non-B; perhaps she felt it was unfair that so few people had a chance at the Game-board.

I wouldn't blame her, Pete realized. But she doesn't understand that any moment any one of us can suddenly become non-B. We have only to recall Joe Schilling... once the greatest Bindman in the Western World and now non-B, probably for the rest of his life. The division is not as fixed as all that.