I just blinked for a moment. Then I said, "You're still here!" "Of course. Where did you think I'd be?" "But I thought--I mean the ticket office--" She set down the bundles and kissed me and looked up into my eyes, almost smiling, half reproachful. "You didn't really think I'd go running off with something out of a lab, did you?" "Then--you knew?" "Certainly I knew, silly. You didn't do a very good job of instructing him, either. You gave him far too much latitude. Let him have ideas of his own and all that. And next thing I knew, he was trying to get me to run off with him to Hawaii or someplace." "Bermuda," I said. And then Marge was in my arms, kissing me and snuggling her cheek against my chest. "Even though he looked like you, I knew he couldn't be," she said. "He was like you, but he wasn't _you_, darling. And all I ever want is you. I just never appreciated you before...." I held her close and tried to keep my hands from shaking. George Faircloth, Idiot, I thought. She'd never been more beautiful. "But what did you do with him?" "I sent him back to the factory, naturally. They said they could blot him out and use him over again. But let's not talk about that any more. We've got more interesting things to discuss." Maybe we had, but we didn't waste a lot of time talking. It was the Marge I'd once known and I was beginning to wonder how I could have been so wrong about her. In fact unless my memory was getting awfully porous, the old Marge was _never_ like this-- I kissed her tenderly and ran my hands through her hair, and felt the depression with my fore-finger, and then I knew what had really happened. That Marge always had been a sly one. I wondered how she was liking things in Bermuda. * * * * * Marge probably thought she'd really put me where I belonged, but the laugh was on her, after all. As I said, the old Marge was never like the new one. Marge Prime makes Jeree and Sybil and Dorothy and Dawn and Jane and Ruby all look pretty sad by comparison. She cooks like a dream and she always brings me my pipe and slippers. As they say, there's nothing a man likes more than to be appreciated. A hundred per cent appreciated, with a factory guarantee to correct any slippage, which would only be temporary, anyhow. One of these days, we'll take that second honeymoon. But I think we'll go to Hawaii. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Prime Difference, by Alan E. Nourse