"If you can stand any more," Lily said, "what kind of a job?"

"I can stand it if you can. Reading manuscripts for a publisher. It was terrible-you would never believe what some people think is fit to print. Then I got a job at the UN, a desk job. The job was about as bad, but I met a lot of different people, and I realized how silly I was to do dull paying jobs when I didn't need the pay. It was a girl I met at the UN, a colored girl, who gave me the idea of the ROCC, and I went and asked if I could do something." She drank coffee.

"Absolutely fascinating," Lily declared. "Don't you think so, Mr. Goodwin?"

"No," I said flatly. A business adviser should be tough. "It depends on what satisfies a person, that's all. You ladies both have all the money you need, and in my opinion you're both rather selfish. You could make a couple of men secure and happy and comfortable, but you won't take the trouble. Neither of you is married. At least-you haven't been married, Miss Brooke?"

"No."

"And don't intend to be?"

She laughed, a soft little laugh. "Maybe I will. After what you've said, I'll feel selfish if I don't. I'll invite you and Miss Rowan to the wedding."

"I'll accept with pleasure. By the way, which publisher did you read manuscripts for? I had one rejected once, and it may have been you."

"Oh, I hope not. The Parthenon Press."

"Then it wasn't you. Another by the way, this will amuse you. When Miss Rowan got the idea of making a contribution to the ROCC she asked me to check a little, and I asked around, and one man said there was probably some Communist influence. Of course people say that about any outfit they don't like, but he mentioned a name. Dunbar Whipple. He had no evidence, just hearsay. But Whipple might like to know about it. I'd rather not name the man who said it."