Juliette patted the pillow back into place and slid the knife under it. She couldn’t wait, now; what was delaying things?

She forced herself to move to a vent and depress the sprayer, shedding her robe as the perfumed mist bathed her body. It was the final allurement—but why didn’t her toy arrive?

Suddenly Grandfather’s voice came over the auditor. “I’m sending you a little surprise, dearest.”

That’s what he always said; it was part of the game.

Juliette depressed the communicator-toggle. “Don’t tease,” she begged. “Tell me what it’s like.”

“An Englishman. Late Victorian Era. Very prim and proper, by the looks of him.”

“Young? Handsome?”

“Passable.” Grandfather chuckled. “Your appetites betray you, dearest.”

“Who is it—someone from the books?”

“I wouldn’t know the name. We found no identification during the decontamination. But from his dress and manner, and the little black bag he carried when I discovered him so early in the morning, I’d judge him to be a physician returning from an emergency call.”

Juliette knew about “physicians” from her reading of course; just as she knew what “Victorian” meant. Somehow the combination seemed exactly right.

“Prim and proper?” She giggled. “Then I’m afraid it’s due for a shock.”

Grandfather laughed. “You have something in mind, I take it.”

“Yes.”

“Can I watch?”

“Please—not this time.”

“Very well.”

“Don’t be mad, darling. I love you.”

Juliette switched off. Just in time, too, because the door was opening and the toy came in.

She stared at it, realizing that Grandfather had told the truth. The toy was a male of thirty-odd years, attractive but by no means handsome. It couldn’t be, in that dark garb and those ridiculous side whiskers. There was something almost depressingly refined and mannered about it, an air of embarrassed repression.