ve colors!"

* * * * *

Robert closed his mouth and silently sought the connection.

_Robots?_ he thought. _Not fat, but repulsive colors, she said. What
has that to do with food? The woman seems incapable of logic._

"And furthermore," Marcia-Joan was saying, "I'm not sure I care for
the looks of you! Lulu, put him out!"

"Who's Lulu?" demanded Robert.

Then, as the major-domo moved forward, he understood.

"What a silly name for a robot!" he exclaimed.

"I suppose you'd call it Robert. Will you go now, or shall I call more
robots?"

"I am not a fool," said Robert haughtily. "I shall go. Thank you for
the disgusting dinner."

"Do not use the front door," said the robot. "Only Marcia-Joan uses
that. All robots use other doors."

Robert growled, but walked down the hall to the back door. As this
swung open to permit his passage, he halted.

"It's dark out there now," he complained over his shoulder. "Don't you
have any lights on your grounds? Do you want me to trip over
something?"

"Of course I have ground lights!" shrilled Marcia-Joan. "I'll show
you--not that I care if you trip or not."

A moment later, lights concealed among the trees glowed into life.
Robert walked outside and turned toward the cottage.

_I should have asked her what the colors of my robots had to do with
it_, he thought, and turned back to re-enter.

He walked right into the closed door, which failed to open before him,
though it had operated smoothly a moment ago.

"Robots not admitted after dark," a mechanical voice informed him.
"Return to your stall in the shed."

"Whom do you think you're talking to?" demanded Robert. "I'm not one
of your robots!"

There was a pause.

"Is it Marcia-Joan?" asked the voice-box, after considerable buzzing
and whirring.

"No, I'm Robert."

There was another pause while the mechanism laboriously shifted back
to its other speech tape. Then: "Robots not admitted after dark.
Return to your stall in the shed."

Robert slowly raised both hands to his temples. Lingeringly, he
dragged them down over his cheeks and under his chin until at last the
fingers interlaced over his tight lips. After a moment, he let out his
breath between his fingers and dropped his hands to his sides.

He raised one foot to kick, but decided that the door looked too hard.

He walked away between the beds of flowers, grumbling.

* * * * *

Reaching