“I don’t know. Could I come out of it, now? It’s been five years. I started it deliberately to spite him— didn’t even like the stuff, like you. Now, I wonder. I’ll tell you”—he leaned forward over the table—”they can cure me, of course. But would I be any good now, if they did? Math —it’s a beautiful thing. Beautiful like art: That’s the way I remember it; but I’m not sure. Not sure at all anymore.” He shook his head again. “When the time comes to dump this,” he pointed again at the bottle, “you need something that means more to you. I don’t know if work does, any more.”

“How about William?” asked Donal.

“Yes,” said ArDell, slowly, ‘‘there is him. That would do it. One of these days I’m going to find out why he did this to me. Then—”

“What does he seem to be after?” asked Donal. “I mean, in general?”

“Who knows?” ArDell threw up his hands. “Business. More business. Contracts—more contracts. Agreements with every government, a finger in every honeypot. That’s our William.”

“Yes,” said Donal. He pushed back his float and stood up.

“Sit down,” said ArDell. “Stop and talk. You never sit still for more than a second or two. For the love of peace, you’re the only man between the stars I can talk to, and you won’t sit still.”

“I’m sorry,” Donal said. “But there’re things I have to do. A day’ll come, maybe, when we can sit down and talk.”

“I doubt it,” muttered ArDell. ‘‘I doubt it very much.”

Donal left him there, staring at his bottle.

He went in search of the marshal; but it was Anea he encountered first, standing upon a small balcony, deserted except for herself; and gazing out over the hall, directly below, with an expression at the same time so tired and so longing that he was suddenly and deeply moved by the sight of it.

He approached her, and she turned at the sound of his footsteps. At the sight of him, her expression changed.

“You again,” she said, in no particularly welcome tone.

“Yes,” said Donal, brusquely. “I meant to search you out later, but this is too good a chance to pass up.”

“Too good.”

“I mean you’re alone . . . I mean I can talk to you privately,” said Donal, impatiently.

She shook her head.

“We’ve got nothing to talk about,” she said.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” said Donal. “Of course we have—unless you’ve given over your campaign against William.”

“Well!” The word leaped from her lips and her eyes flashed their green fire at him. “Who do you think you are!” she cried furiously. “Whoever gave you the right to have any say about what I do?”