st learn.

"Look, dear," he said, sitting down beside his wife on the couch and
taking her hand in his. She didn't draw away this time. "Suppose that
what you say is true--not that it is, of course. Just because the tree
has a crush on me doesn't mean I necessarily have a crush on her, does
it?"

His wife looked up at him, her rose-red lips parted, her moss-gray eyes
shining. "Oh, if only I could believe that, James!"

"Anyhow, she doesn't know what the whole thing's about, poor kid!"

"Poor _kid_!"

"Phyllis, you know you're prettier than any tree." That was not
literally true, but reason was useless; he had to make his point in
terms she could understand. "And, remember, she's got a lot of
rings--she must be centuries old--while you are only nineteen."

"Twenty," Phyllis corrected. "I had a birthday on the ship."

"Well, you certainly must allow me to wish you a happy birthday,
darling."

She was in his arms at last; he was about to kiss her, and the tree
seemed very remote, when she drew back. "But are you sure she
doesn't--she isn't--she can't be watching us?"

"Darling, I swear it!" "_Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear, that tips
with silver all these fruit-tree tops_".... But he had sense enough not
to say it, and Elysium had not one blessed moon, but three, and
everything was all right.

For a while anyway.

* * * * *

"I see your wife is developing a corm," the tree remarked, as James
paused for a chat. He hadn't much time to be sociable those days, for
there was such a lot of work to be done, so many preparations to be
made, so many things to be requisitioned from Earth. The supply ships
were beginning to come now, bringing necessities and an occasional
luxury for those who could afford it.

"She's pregnant," James explained. "Happened before I left Earth."

"How do you mean?"

"She's about to fruit. Didn't I read that zoology book to you?"

"Yes, but--oh, James, it all seems so vulgar! To fruit without ever
having bloomed--how squalid!"

"It all depends on how you look at it," he said. "I--that is, we had
hoped that when the baby came, you would be godmother to it. You know
what that is, don't you?"

"Of course I do. You read _Cinderella_ to me. I know it's a great honor.
But I'm afraid I must decline."

"Why? I thought you were my--our friend."

"Jim, there is something I must confess: my feelings toward you are not
merely those of a friend. Although