The Counselor made his final notations, rolled Simon's registration papers and stuffed them into a pneumotube which he dropped into a wall slot. The tube, Simon knew, was being whisked to Quickie Records, Newlywed Division, where identification of the girl fitting his requirements would be made by the machine records unit of available newlyweds. Last time, in Philadelphia, he had selected a garrulous old grandmother and hated every moment of the two weeks he had spent with her. It had been against the recommendations of the Counselor there, who had claimed the age difference would not make for harmony. The man had been right, but worse yet, the old hag had been too wily to reveal what Simon had to know. "Congress is considering a law," said the Counselor as they waited for the return of Simon's registration papers, "which would permit Quickies and Transients to alternate year after year. It would cause social upheaval at the beginning, but it's only fair to us Quickies, don't you think?" Simon shrugged. The man was starting to bother him. "I'd rather be a Transient," he said. "I'm for the _status quo_." "But Quickies have no choice in the matter, don't you see? We have to marry whoever comes along. My last wife--" "As a Quickie, you're not supposed to talk about her." The Counselor blanched at what had almost amounted to a sin. "Thank you," he said, and waited in silence for the pneumotube. Finally, it came, popping out of the wall slot and alighting on the desk. The Counselor removed Simon's papers and unrolled them, revealing a set of similar papers rolled tightly within. These he opened and spread on the desk, beckoning Simon to come around behind him and take a look. The first thing Simon saw was the snapshot, in the latest trivision process. The girl looked pretty enough, with a pale, heart-shaped face set off against short-cropped, shining black hair. She had enormous, child-like eyes. "How do you do?" the picture said. "I am Jane-Marie Paige. I miss you." "See," said the Counselor, "she has a lovely voice." Simon nodded, picked up the trivision snapshot and held it under his nose, sniffing delicately. He liked the scent of Jane-Marie's perfume--not too musky, not too flowery, but that ideal compromise which indicated she would be neither too sultry nor too fragile. The Counselor wrote in Simon's name on her papers, printing "approx. 3 wks" under the column for time, and handed both rolls to Simon. "Her address is in the second column," he said. "Visit us again on your next trip to New York, Mr. Grover. And good luck." * * * * *