He found himself obliged to participate in what were called far-reaching decisions concerning countries of whose language he was ignorant, whose customs he had never studied, whose religion was a puzzle to him, whose politics a labyrinth, whose history a mystery. For this purpose he was provided with advisers whose qualifications did not in every instance exceed his own capacities—and with documents whose abundance invariably did. And at intervals he made headlong journeys to inspect the work of DALTO around the world.

When in this way he visited DALTO projects in the field—to gain, as the saying goes, firsthand knowledge—he was generally received in spacious offices and whisked about, to institutes and farms, to factories and dam-sites, in large cars. He stayed in air-conditioned hotels and was entertained in important houses. He could not quite convince himself that this led to firsthand knowledge. But since he did not believe in useless suffering he was also displeased when he came upon a DALTO mission existing without such amenities, and would depart promising to rectify the situation.

These contradictions caused him dismay, but Pylos suppressed his misgivings, with the help of Sadie Graine—who urged upon him matters of more immediate importance, such as jurisdictional disputes with fellow aid-agencies over specific rights to assist the needy. Any important deviation from established Organization practices would have necessitated a character very different from his. Faintly he trusted to the larger hope—that something less than ill would be the final goal of good. Sometimes he consoled himself with the simple fact that he, one of DALTO’s own officers, was aware of such inconsistencies. This seemed to help somewhat.

On the fifth anniversary of Pylos’s arrival at the Organization, a new leaf, turned by an unexpected hand, was opened in the story of Miss Sadie Graine.

That evening, for the first time, Sadie Graine came to dinner at the Pylos apartment. Mrs. Pylos had often spoken with Miss Graine on the telephone, and had glimpsed her occasionally in her husband’s office. Once in a while she had said to Pylos, “Shouldn’t we ask your secretary to dinner?” Pylos, from some instinct which he could not then explain but which was later vindicated, had repeatedly turned the suggestion aside. At last the anniversary celebration presented itself, and Mrs. Pylos, saying “Achilles, don’t be ridiculous,” had telephoned Miss Graine and invited her to dinner.

The evening seemed to go well enough. There were several other guests, and along the table Pylos saw his wife talking in her usual charming way with Miss Sadie Graine. He even heard her say, “Do call me Ismene.” It was unnecessary, even indecent, to contrast his wife, with her elegant golden head and great gray eyes, with Sadie Graine, with her tight little lips and tight little dark-blue dress; but Pylos was touched to observe that Sadie Graine had a new permanent wave for the occasion.