I suspected that this remark would lead to new revelations in this strictly scientific society, but already overwhelmed by the mystery of the new knowledge to be acquired, I did not persist. Acquilla took my hand and led me to my room, where I perceived a low broad couch, soft and covered with silken cushions. “What are you staring at now?” “But where are the bed-clothes?” I asked, looking around. “Bed-clothes? Did you put on clothes to go to bed?” said Acquilla with a drawing of her eyebrows. “By bed-clothes I mean sheets--” “But there is the sheet.” “I see. But the upper sheet--and the blanket--and the bedspread--and the comforter?” “What, you actually slept beneath all that! How unhygienic! No wonder you all died young!” “But I shall catch my death of cold!” “Don’t you realize, my dear, that the human body like any other animal body craves air and sunshine? Throw off your toga and try the couch. You will find it deliciously soft. As for catching cold, that is impossible. We adjust the temperature of the room by this thermostat. So. Now you have the warm dry glow you require for perfect rest.” “And you sleep without anything on,” I said hesitating, “the whole year round?” “Naturally. Night is the great renovator. Not only does the body require contact with oxygen but we charge the atmosphere with invigorating electric currents. Even the air you will breathe will be modified according to your chemical needs. Tomorrow when you have been thoroughly examined your chemical formula will be worked out. I am speaking of course of the abc’s of modern scientific prolongation of life.” “So this at last is the fountain of youth,” I exclaimed, extending my arms languorously to the warm incoming current. “I can feel my eyes closing already!” “Well--good night!” said Acquilla after a moment’s hesitation, and taking me up into her arms she whispered, “You are unlike any man I ever knew. What is it that draws me so to you with such strange and bewildering force? Are you glad that it was I that found you?” I nodded shyly, with a twentieth-century prudery, hoping desperately that she would go and leave me alone. But as she remained staring at me entranced, there was no help for it. I slipped from my garment and flung myself on the couch which was indeed of a voluptuous softness truly astounding. “Good night, my beautiful one,” said Acquilla softly. I counterfeited an extreme drowsiness. “Good night, dear--I can hardly keep my eyes open--tired, so tired--so many bewildering things--” She slipped from the room, extinguishing the lights. My twentieth-century inhibitions, of course! Ridiculous? Yes, even archaic, such prudery! For after all I freely acknowledge the superiority of this new self-unconsciousness. Besides, even in my day were there not enfranchised spirits on the beaches of Scandinavia and Russia, to say nothing of Germany?