"It's good enough. Tomorrow we can take your identification papers, driving license and so forth, and get the money ourselves. That is, unless they know you personally at the bank?" Horner said that he did his banking by mail. He supposed they were going to forge his signature, but made no comment because he had decided, all at once, to call the whole thing off. "See here," he said. "This is a little awkward. But you can trust me not to talk." "What's a little awkward?" "I--I've decided not to go through with it," Horner said lamely. "My wife, my friends...." The girl said nothing. She took two steps forward, placed her arms around Horner, and kissed him. She wore a subtle perfume. She was beautiful. Her lips were soft and warm, inviting. Her lips were hot. Her lips burned.... Horner broke away breathlessly. His heart was pounding. He knew his face was flushed, he could feel it. His legs were unsteady. He wanted to respond, but his energies were dissipating in the hard-pumping heart, the trembling limbs, the flushed face. It was a middle-aged response. It lacked the drive and direction of youth. * * * * * "Did you like that?" the girl asked, taking one of Horner's hands and holding it. "Yes," came his breathless reply. "Oh, yes! I liked it." "But you didn't...." "Respond? I have a wife." "That wasn't the reason." "We're happily married!" "And I like this sweater I'm wearing very much, but I have others and will wear others." "The mores of our society...." "Mores baloney! You were just plain scared. Middle-aged scared. Look at you. You're soft and you're getting wrinkles. Do you think I was really attracted to you? Do you think that's why I kissed you? No, you fool. That wasn't the reason." "Then you...." "Wanted to make this point. Wanted to show you you're old, too old to enjoy the most obvious pleasures of a younger man's life. Twenty-five, Mr. Horner! That's the age! The age not of boyishness but of mature youth! Twenty-five! The perfect age for you, and you know it." She smiled at him. It was a deliberately sexy smile, a come-on, an invitation which Horner, under the circumstances, had to decline. "Are you convinced?" she said. "That I'm not as young as I used to be? Of course." She gave him a deliberately daughterly kiss, pecking at his temple with her soft warm lips. "Then you're ready to go to the observation room." The observation room, thought Horner. Did he do the observing, or was he observed? He sighed. It was not a young man's way of expressing what Hugh Horner felt. He knew it was not. He said slowly, bleakly, "I'm ready for the observation room." The girl did not even nod. She had known he would be ready all along. * * * * *