Ted kept his eyes on Eben's face and managed a "What do you know about that?" at the proper intervals, but his mind was on the squirrel and the blonde. And the dream. Which was the dream? Here, listening to the Drews monologue or this morning, on Mars? He had a strange feeling, as the monotone droned on and on, as the background of Ann and Mrs. Drews' voice seemed to swell and dim, that this was the dream. As they were undressing, in the room between their bedrooms, later that evening, Ann said, "It won't happen again, honey. I see what you mean." "Don't tell me they bored you, too?" "A little. And _I'm_ interested in gardening. Ted--" She seemed to be blushing. "Yes?" In wonder and hope, he gazed at her. "Ted, I'll try to read--and--widen my interests. I'll be better." Something warm grew in him. "If you'll get a job." The warmth receded. "Blackmail. Ann, you're incurable." He turned, and stalked off to his own bedroom. There, he sat on the bed and stared moodily at the wall, wondering about marriage. When the light was out, he stood by his window a few seconds, looking down at the house below. All the windows were dark. He was annoyed and frustrated and not a bit tired. But he was asleep five minutes after he hit the pillow. Just before he fell off, he thought he heard a scratching at the window. There was an opalescent glow which seemed to come from the solid cloud barrier above. There was grass and a slope leading down to the stream. There was no sense of wonder in Ted. Beyond the hills to his left, there seemed to be a darker area, as though there were cities there, and their resultant smog. But this was--pastoral, peaceful and still invigorating. Willows bordered the stream and along the bend there were trees which resembled cottonwoods, though the bark was darker. Ted breathed easily, and there was no change in his weight he could notice. Then, in a glade, surrounded by the willows, he saw the blonde. The sun was not visible; there was just the pearly glow. But she was sunning herself. * * * * * If it was a dream, his senses were with him. He could feel the strong grass underfoot, smell the rich growth, hear the blood pounding in his temples. He walked down the hill toward the blonde. He pushed through the willows and came into the glade, and saw her quick smile of recognition. He smiled in return. "I won't believe it in the morning." He sat on the grass beside her. "Is it Venus?" "Where else?" Her face was finely modeled with faintly discernible cheek bones and a smooth jaw line. "The lover's planet, hidden from the universe by its atmosphere. Hamilton's work, I'll wager." "Hamilton?" "You know him, our friend from the nutmeg tree. He arranged it, didn't he?" "I suppose. He--or destiny. I shouldn't be here, really. Because I do love my wife, in a lot of ways, but--" "_Please_ don't say she doesn't understand you. She probably does. Most wives do."