Our conversation got down to fundamentals. George Prime kept insisting blandly that, according to my own directions, he was to pick the first logical opportunity to come out when I buzzed, and that was exactly what he'd done. I was furious all the way to work. I'd take care of this nonsense, all right. I'd have George Prime rewired from top to bottom as soon as the laboratory could take him. But I never phoned the laboratory. The bank was calling me when I got to the office. They wanted to know what I planned to do about that check of mine that had just bounced. "What check?" I asked. "The one you wrote to cash yesterday--five hundred dollars--against your regular account, Mr. Faircloth." The last I'd looked, I'd had about three thousand dollars in that account. I told the man so rather bluntly. "Oh, no, sir. That is, you _did_ until last week. But all these checks you've been cashing have emptied the account." He flashed the checks on the desk screen. My signature was on every one of them. "What about my special account?" I'd learned long before that an account Marge didn't know about was sound rear-guard strategy. "That's been closed out for two weeks." I hadn't written a check against that account for over a year! I glared at the ceiling and tried to think things through. I came up with a horrible thought. Marge had always had her heart set on a trip to Bermuda. Just to get away from it all, she'd say. A second honeymoon. I got a list of travel agencies from the business directory and started down them. The third one I tried had a pleasant tenor voice. "No, sir, not _Mrs._ Faircloth. _You_ bought two tickets. One way. Champagne flight to Bermuda." "When?" I choked out. "Why, today, as a matter of fact. It leaves Idlewild at eleven o'clock--" I let him worry about my amnesia and started home fast. I didn't know what they'd given that Prime for circuits, but there was no question now that he was out of control--_way_ out of control. And poor Marge, all worked up for a second honeymoon-- Then it struck me. Poor Marge? Poor sucker George! No Prime in his right circuits would behave this way without some human guidance and that meant only one thing: Marge had spotted him. It had happened before. Couple of nasty court battles I'd read about. And she'd known all about George Prime. _For how long?_ * * * * * When I got home, the house was empty. George Prime wasn't in his closet. And Marge wasn't in the house. They were gone. I started to call the police, but caught myself just in time. I couldn't very well complain to the cops that my wife had run off with an android. Worse yet, I could get twenty years for having an illegal Prime wandering around. I sat down and poured myself a stiff drink. My own wife deserting me for a pile of bearings. It was indecent. Then I heard the front door open and there was Marge, her arms full of grocery bundles. "Why, darling! You're home early!"