Lidia began her lunch, and they exchanged casual remarks in high voices across the cafeteria din. (While talking with Miss Bass of things one did not particularly care about, one had the sensation of constantly attempting to allay her suspicions of one’s true ideas and quite different interests.) Miss Bass then spoke in some detail of a new report she was working on, a survey of drainage in Polynesia. Conditions were distressing. There was much to be done. She gave examples.

“Poor things,” Lidia murmured, stoically finishing her meal.

“It’s no use saying ‘poor things,’ Lidia.” Miss Bass often took it on herself to dictate the responses of others. “Sentiment doesn’t help. What’s needed is know-how.”

Lidia was silent, believing that even drains cannot supplant human feeling.

“The trouble with you, Lidia, is that you respond emotionally, not pragmatically. It’s a device to retain the sense of patronage. Unconscious, of course. You don’t think of people like these as your brothers.” Miss Bass was one of those who find it easy and even gratifying to direct fraternal feelings toward large numbers of people living at great distances. Her own brother—who was shiftless and sometimes tried to borrow money from her—she had not seen for over a year. “You don’t relate to them as individuals.” In Miss Bass’s mouth the very word “individuals” denoted legions.

Lidia, casting about for a diversion, was softened to see that Mr. Bekkus had brought out photographs of what appeared to be a small child and was showing them to his companion.

“Who is that man?” Millicent asked. “I’ve seen him around for years.”

“Bekkus, from Personnel.” Lidia lowered her voice. “He’s on the Appointments and Terminations Board.”

“My baby verbalizes,” Bekkus was saying to his colleague. “Just learning to verbalize.”

“Speaking of which,” Millicent went on, “I hear you’re losing your friend.”

Lidia hesitated, then dug her spoon into her crème caramel. “You mean Algie.”

“Well, there’s a limit after all,” Miss Bass said, sensing resistance.

“I’ll miss him.”

Miss Bass was not to be repulsed. “He is impossible.”

Lidia laughed. “When people say that about Algie, it always reminds me of Bakunin.”

“One of the new translators?” asked Miss Bass, running through the names of the Russian Section in her mind.

“No, no. I mean the Russian revolutionary.”

“He a friend of Algie’s?” Millicent inquired—sharply, for politics were forbidden to the Organization staff, and a direct affiliation with them was one of the few infallible means of obtaining summary dismissal.

“He died a century ago.”

“What’s he got to do with Algie?” Miss Bass was still suspicious.

“Oh—he was a big untidy man, and he once said—when someone told him he was impossible—‘I shall continue to be impossible so long as those who are now possible remain possible.’”

Millicent was not amused. “The Organization cannot afford Algie Wyatt.”