By the time Simon took the tubeway out to the suburban Long Island community in which Jane-Marie Paige lived, the bright spring afternoon was fading into dusk, tinting the western sky with bands of color ranging from deep blue and purple through mauve to delicate, dusty pink. The smell of spring was in the air, but with the coming of night the lingering chill of winter was still apparent. It would be great, coming home again to a new wife, to a drink and an excellent home-cooked dinner, to a cozy fire perhaps--especially when you could have all that and still retain the pulse-quickening feeling of adventure. Whistling, Simon found Maple Lane and walked by the rows of spherical houses which could rotate with the sun from equinox to solstice and back again. Simon could tell it was a development of newlywed homes by their small size, by the absence of baby carriages and toys on the front lawns, by the small clumps of white birch trees and windows with their curtains drawn. He found the address listed on Jane-Marie's registration papers and turned up the walk, noticing the small, ranch-type name post with "Mr. and Mrs. Jane-Marie Paige" on it in big gold letters. "It's Simon," he said as the door slid soundlessly into the curving wall. "I'm home." Suddenly, Jane-Marie appeared there in the doorway. She must have been at one of the curtained windows, peeking out at him. There were soft lights behind her and a delicate halo circled her dark hair from the raditiara she wore. "Simon," she said, barely above a whisper, a radiant smile on her face. "They called me. Come in, darling." But she still barred the doorway. When he came in he came into the arms of his waiting wife, his newlywed wife, his Jane-Marie. "I missed you ever since they sent your picture," she breathed, while he kissed the lobes of her ears, the tip of her nose, her eyes, her warm, eager lips. "Jane-Marie," he said. It was genuinely thrilling to her, he sensed. It was more than that to him. It was--it was illicitly thrilling, worth all the quick exits and close calls with the police. "You'll muss me," Jane-Marie scolded him, drawing away and rearranging her hair under the tiara. "There. Are you hungry?" "Honey, I'm famished." "Well, I'm making no promises. I'm not much of a cook, really. They didn't tell me how long you were going to stay, but I should improve enough so when the next--" "Sh. I'll be here three weeks." "Come in, come in." She took his hand in her own warm one, pressing the door button and dimming the hall light as they walked into the house. "Tell me about yourself, darling. What do you do? How are you going to spend your time in New York? Oh, I'm so excited. There's so much to talk about, so much to learn about each other. Do you play bridge? There's a couple down the street, the wife's a Transient and just got here today, but I know the husband, who likes to play bridge. Do you like music? I'll turn some on."