So far as I knew, there was nothing about my appearance to pique the interest of an MEP official. My Roger Williams suit was conventional enough; I had doffed my black, wide-brimmed hat upon entering the building and now held it at my waist in the prescribed manner; I was above average in height, but not noticeably so, and if my yellow hair and gray eyes failed to match the dour decorum of my clothing, I could hardly be held responsible for the defection. Nevertheless, there was something about me that the MEP captain found disagreeable. The disapproval in his eyes was unmistakable. "Do you have any ideas at all, Mr. Bartlett?" The girl's cool blue eyes were a relief after the somber brown ones. It was like returning from Milton's _Paradise Lost_ to the carefree _L'Allegro_ of his youth. Abruptly, the inspiration I'd been searching for materialized--almost at my fingertips. "Blue eyes," I said. "I'd definitely want her to have blue eyes--and dark brown hair to go with them. And then I'd want her to have a round, full face, and shoulders that look good even in a Mayflower dress." I saw the telltale pinkness come into her cheeks and I caught the tiny fluttering of a pulse in her white temple. But all she said was: "What else, Mr. Bartlett? I presume she would have intellectual as well as physical qualities." "Naturally." I knew I was being presumptuous, that I was probably violating some of the law-enforced mores of the Age of Repentance. But for once in my life I felt reckless. I concentrated on the piquant face before me. "I'd want her to be a little on the sophisticated side," I said softly (the MEP captain had big ears). "Well-versed in the Five Books of course--and perhaps acquainted with one or two of the forbidden ones. And then I'd want her to like children and maybe be willing to have three--or even four--instead of one or none. But most of all I'd want her to be able to freeze any wrong thoughts a man might have about her, not by recourse to the law, or by saying or doing anything; but just by looking the way she does, by being the way she is--if you know what I mean." The pinkness of her cheeks had darkened to deep rose. "Is that all, Mr. Bartlett?" I sighed. My recklessness had netted me nothing. "Yes," I said. She withdrew the application from the talk-typer and initialed it. She raised her eyes. "I censored your reference to the forbidden books," she said. "It would have rated you at least two years in Purgatory if the Marriage Administrator had seen it. You really should be more careful about what you say, Mr. Bartlett." I'd forgotten all about the meticulous little machine tap-tapping silently away on the desk. I felt like a fool. "Thanks," I said. "One of the reverend psychiatrists will interview you on the top floor. You'll find a waiting room at the head of the staircase." I started to turn, then paused. I didn't know why I paused; I only knew that I couldn't let it end like that. "I wonder," I said. "Yes?"