He silently cursed his makers and the wonderfully human brain they had given him. Their theory was that a salesman, to be effective, should think exactly like a human being. To better satisfy the customers, he should appreciate every human drive and desire. But it was wrong to feel like a man, to desire like a man, to hurt like a man and be unable to ease the pain because he was not a man! For once, U.S. Robot had gone too far! The woman looked up at him with the eyes that broadcast adoration. "You're wonderful!" she repeated. "Do you think...?" She hesitated, looked away. "Could I be in love with you?" she asked with child-like innocence. "Is it possible?" Ira felt flustered, giddy, light-headed, exultant, confused, miserable and weak. Damn U.S. Robot and their perfected flui-electronics! "But madam," he protested, "I'm not a man! I'm only a...." "Please call me Emma," the woman said. "You see, I'm not Mrs. Bartlett. I've tried to tell you--Madam is not at home. I only work here." Gone was his exultant feeling, gone the light-headedness. Only the misery and weakness remained in the realization that his yearning was impossible of fulfillment and that, to top it off, he had wasted his time trying to sell himself to a servant. "Do you think I could?" the maid repeated. "Could what?" "Be in love with you." "But, miss don't you understand? I'm not...." "My name is Emma," she said softly. She smiled and he fought down an overwhelming urge to touch her, to kiss her pink, inviting lips. He stood rigid. He wanted to cry out in his torment. Her hand reached out to him and he felt her fingers touch his. Electricity tingled up his arm and through his chest. Automatically, he repeated his cursed disavowal of humanness. Vaguely, he heard his own words, sounding like an echo in his ears. "I'm a robot." "I know," Emma said quietly. Then, she held up her right hand, revealing the identification stamp on her wrist. _Model M (fem.)_ _Serial No. 6139 12V_ _AMALGAMATED ANDROIDS, INC._ A moment later the android was in his arms. He held her close, dizzy with the sensation of this new emotion with one of his own kind. Several moments later he pushed her gently away from him. "Pack your bag, Emma," he said. She looked at him starry-eyed but quizzically. "But my work--madam will be furious--" "Your bag, Emma," he repeated. "When our companies built us they made us as near human as possible--perhaps too much so. If we can work for humans we can also live like them. U.S. Robots and Amalgamated Androids have just lost two employees. Your bag." Being an android she could work faster than any human counter-part; her bag was packed in nothing flat.