She shuddered. How did you tell your husband? How did you reveal yourself? Here's the new me, Tom? How do you like it? How--how do you like the merchandise I bought from a peddler who came around in the afternoon. She couldn't tell Tom. Not now, not yet. She wouldn't know how to approach him. Probably, he wouldn't even believe her. He'd never accept this beautiful creature as his mundane little wife. Never-- Then what did you do? Run away? But she had nothing against Tom. Plain, steady Tom with his normal likes and dislikes, his pillar-of-the-community attitude, his pipe-smoking solidness, his liking for carpet-slippers and the newspaper after supper. She couldn't desert Tom. But neither could she reveal herself--her new self--to him. All at once she remembered. Twenty-four hours. Then the peddler would return. She looked at her watch. He would be back at exactly four-fifteen tomorrow afternoon. _Exactly_ four-fifteen, she reminded herself. To be precise was crucial. Very well, that decided it for her. She would have twenty-four hours before she had to tell Tom. Until four-fifteen tomorrow afternoon. Twenty-four hours. It wasn't a long time, but oddly it frightened her. Because there wasn't any doubt about the new body, the new face. They would attract--and she wasn't only thinking of sex-appeal. Naturally, they had sex-appeal. For a woman, that was part of--perhaps a large part of--attracting adventure. * * * * * Twenty-four hours, Mary-Jean told herself. Mary-Jean? It didn't sound right. It no longer fit her new personality. Then what? What name? Even a new name for the twenty-four hours. I know, she thought happily, her skin still glowing, still tingling strangely. I'll be Jeanne--Jeanne-Marie! It sounds so French and--and exciting. It was almost the cocktail hour now, not that Mary-Jean went for cocktails. But Jeanne-Marie? Jeanne-Marie might. Indeed, she might. So Jeanne-Marie got into a cocktail dress which fit her properly for the first time. Actually, she found, although she looked much taller than Mary-Jean, she wasn't, not really. There were subtle structural differences which made her look taller, slimmer, statuesque. And the dress fit her like a sheath. * * * * * She scrawled a note for Tom. Plain, honest Tom, she thought, with some sadness. _Dear Tom: Called out of town unexpectedly. I wish I could explain. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon._ She wanted to add _maybe_ but did not. _There's supper for you and Tommy in the fridge. Don't worry about me because I'll be all right. I'll be fine. That's putting it mildly--I'll be just great. See you tomorrow. Love, Mary-Jean._ Almost, she had signed Jeanne-Marie. She looked at the note, frowned, and tore it up. It would be an adequate note for Mary-Jean to write, but not Jeanne-Marie. She took a fresh sheet of paper and scrawled: _Back tomorrow. Called away suddenly. Mary-Jean._