Martt sat up at this. "Where was she when we were here before?" "Away," said Brett. "She was too young to meet a man then. Only now has she come to be sixteen. You'll like her, Martt. I want you to like her." "I will," said Martt enthusiastically, "if she's anything like Leela." "You were telling us about the life here," I suggested. "We always called this land the Inner Surface----" "Yes," he agreed. "It is concave, like the inner shell of some great, hollow globe. Within the space it encloses----" He gestured to where, through the arcade, a segment of purple, star-filled sky was visible. "All that which we of Earth called the Celestial Universe is enclosed by this concave shell. You would think that this must be a gigantic region----" He smiled again. "It is not. Compared to our present enormous size, I imagine the circumference of this Inner Surface is not unduly great. I don't know. These people have not explored very far. They are not wanderers--they are too indolent, too contented, to wander." He paused to drink from a shallow receptacle which stood before us, and offered Martt and me what appeared to be arrant cylinders to smoke. "I have learned a little of the language. Proper names are impossible to translate. But the meaning of their word for this land, I call in English. Romantica. The romantic land. It is, I fancy, about five hundred miles square. Beyond it lie forests and mountains. No one here has ever penetrated them. There are wild beasts, birds, insect life--and fish and reptiles in the water. But they are not dangerous--not aggressive. It is not because of them that these people avoid exploration. It is--just indolence." "I don't wonder," I said. "This is very peaceful here--I have no desire to do anything in particular." From the city streets a drone of activity floated up to us; but it was almost somnolent. "It's always like this," said Brett. "Almost no change of seasons--the light always the same. There is no disease here--or very little. Food--grains, and what we would call vegetables, grow abundantly in this rich soil. The trees give milk--even the bark and pulp of them are edible. Life is easy. There is nothing to struggle against. "Through generations, it has made the people kindly. There is little crime. No struggle for land, or food or clothing. Crimes involving sex----" He gestured. "Wherever humans exist there will be crimes of that origin. But our women here are very sensible, and when a woman does what is right--well, you know, don't you, that most deeds of violence into which men plunge over women have a woman's wrong actions at the bottom of them? There is little of that here, for the women take care that there shall not be.