“Say anything you like. It’s still the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Oh God, _not_ avocado again!” The offending salad was waved away while Hastings muttered apologies. “Nasty, pointless things, all texture and no taste.” She made a face. “But I suppose that we must live off the fruits of the country and this is the only thing which will grow in California.” She moved without pause from Western flora to the problem of John Cave. “As for your own contribution, Eugene, it will depend largely upon what you choose to do. As I said, I never suspected that Iris would get in so deep and you may prove to be quite as surprising. This is the ground floor of course ... wonderful expression, isn’t it? the spirit of America: the slogan which broke the plains ... in any case, the way is clear. Cave liked you. You can write things for them, rather solid articles based on your inimitable misreadings of history. You can educate Cave, though this might be unwise since so much of his force derives from his eloquent ignorance; or you might become a part of the organization which is getting under way. I suppose Iris will explain that to you: it’s rather her department at the moment. All those years in the Junior League gave her a touching faith in the power of committees, which is just as well when handling Americans. As for the tambourines and cries of 'Come and Be Saved’ you are some twenty years behind the times. We ... or to be exact I ought to say 'they’ ... have more up-to-date plans.” “Committees? What committees?” Clarissa unfolded her mushroom omelet with a secret smile. “You’ll meet our number-one committee member after lunch. He’s coming, isn’t he?” She looked at Hastings as though suspecting him of a treacherous ineptitude. “Certainly, certainly, at least he _said_ he was.” Hastings motioned for the serving-woman to clean away the luncheon dishes and we moved to other chairs beside the pool for coffee. Clarissa was in fine form, aggressive, positive, serenely indifferent to the effect she was having on Hastings and me. “Of course I’m just meddling,” she said in answer to an inquiry of mine. “I don’t really give two cents for Mr Cave and his message.” “Clarissa!” Hastings was genuinely shocked. “I mean it. Not that I don’t find him fascinating and of course the whole situation is delicious ... what we shall do! or _you_ shall do!” she looked at me maliciously. “I can foresee no limits to this.” “It no doubt reminds you of the period shortly after Mohammed married Khadija.” My own malice, however, could not pierce Clarissa’s mad equanimity. “Vile man, sweet woman. But no, this is all going to be different although the intellectual climate (I think _intellectual_ is perhaps optimistic but you know what I mean) is quite similar. I can’t wait for the first public response.”