“Oh well ... in that case—” “Don’t go, Hodge. Please. I meant to ask you and Catty to the more formal trial, but now youre here for the preliminary I’m glad. Ace and Father and Oliver will be along in a minute.” “Midbin?” The familiar arrogance showed briefly. “I insisted. It’ll be nice to show him the mind can produce something besides fantasies and hysterical hallucinations.” I started to speak, then swallowed my words. The dig at Catty was insignificant compared with the supreme confidence, the abnormal assurance prompting invitations to witness a test which could only reveal the impossibility of applying her cherished theories. I felt an overwhelming pity. “Surely,” I said at last, seeking to make some preparation for the disillusionment certain to come, “surely you don’t expect it to work the first time?” “Why not? There are sure to be adjustments to be made, allowances for erratic chronology caused by phenomena like the pull of comets and so forth. There might even have to be major alterations, though I doubt it. It may be some time before Ace can set me down at the exact year, month, day, hour and minute agreed upon. But the fact of space-time-energy-matter correspondence can just as well be established this afternoon as next year.” She was unbelievably at ease for someone whose lifework was about to be weighed. I have shown more nervousness discussing a disputed date with the honorary secretary of a local historical society. “Sit down,” she invited; “there’s nothing to do or see till Ace comes. Ive missed you, Hodge.” I felt this was a dangerous remark, and wished I’d stayed far away from the workshop. I hooked my leg over a stool—there were no chairs—and coughed to hide the fact I was afraid to answer, Ive missed you too; and afraid not to. “Tell me about your own work, Hodge. Catty says youre having difficulties.” I was faintly annoyed with Catty, but whether for confiding in Barbara at all or specifically for revealing something unheroic, I didnt stop to consider. At any rate this annoyance diluted my feeling of disloyalty for conversing with Barbara at all. Or it may be the old, long-established bond—I almost wrote, of sympathy, but it was so much more complex than the word indicates—was reawakened by proximity and put me in the mood to tell my troubles. It is even possible I had the altruistic purpose of fortifying Barbara against inevitable disappointment on a misery-loves-company basis. Be that as it may, I found myself pouring out the whole story. She jumped up and took my hands in hers. Her eyes were gray and warm. “Hodge! It’s wonderful—don’t you see?” “Oh....” I was completely confused. “I ... uh....” “The solution. The answer. The means. Look: now you can go back, back to the past in your own person. You can see everything with your own eyes instead of relying on accounts of what other people said happened.”