"And you want to have it called 'What Time Chronos?' or 'Ants and Archangels'?" She broke off, remembering the risk of accusing him of wanting anything but the rarest and highest. "Of course I know what you mean … but isn't there another point of view? I mean for a review like The Hour? Why not try giving your readers the exact opposite of what all the other on-the-spot editors are straining to provide? Something quiet, logical, Jane Austen-y … obvious, almost? A reaction from the universal paradox? At the very moment when even Home and Mother is feeding its million readers with a novel called Jerks and Jazzes, it strikes me that the newest note to sound might be the very quiet—something beginning: 'In the year 1920 there resided in the industrial city of P—— a wealthy manufacturer of the name of Brown… .' That's one of the reasons why I've taken such a fancy to Vance's story."

Adroitly as she had canalized her enthusiasm, she did not expect an immediate response. She knew that what she had said must first be transposed and become his own. He laughed at her tirade, and said he'd make a note of her titles anyhow—they were too good to be lost; but the fact remained that, for the opening number of The Hour under its new management, he thought they ought to have something rather more showy. But he'd think it over … he'd told Weston to come back in a day or two. "Queer devil—says he wrote the thing white hot, in forty-eight hours after getting here; must be about ten thousand words… . And it jogs along so soberly."

The bell rang, and Halo said: "That must be Frenny." Frenside was incapable of spending an evening alone. His life of unsettled aspirations and inconsecutive work made conversation a necessity to him as soon as he had shaken off the daily task, and he often drifted in to sit with Halo for an hour after his club or restaurant dinner.

He entered with his usual dragging step, stooping and somewhat heavier, but with the same light smouldering under the thick lids behind his eyeglasses.

"Hallo, Lewis—didn't know you were back," he grumbled as Tarrant got up to welcome him.

"There's a note of disappointment in your voice," his host bantered. "If you were led to think you'd find Halo alone I advise you to try another private enquiry man."

"Would, if they weren't so expensive," Frenside bantered back, settling down into the armchair that Tarrant pushed forward. "But never mind—let's hear about the new Hour. (Why not rechristen it that, by the way?) Have you come back with an argosy?"