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servants had many privileges. Joab, though more strait-laced than most, was prepared to avail himself of them. Besides working in his office, Jael also kept house for him, so she saw a great deal of him. Jael told him about the planting of the tree, and how exciting it had been; she was going back to look at it, she said, in the luncheon interval. "Supposing all the flowers had been killed, too," she added, "as well as the trees! I wonder where they found it," she went on. "A flower is rare enough, but only think, a tree!" "Flowers were better protected," said her brother, "because of their nearness to the ground. It was the things that stuck up that were destroyed. The proportion of flowers to trees is--I could give you the exact figures--roughly three to one. We, don't need either, of course. The plastic substitutes are better in every way." "But think of something _growing__!" "You're just being romantic. Besides, remember what the flowers suffered!" It had been discovered that flowers could feel as much as human beings, or more; the few that remained were taken immense care of, and it was forbidden, under serious penalties, to pick them. Among the many sins and crimes that historians of the regime imputed to previous ages, cruelty to plants came high. "Imagine living in a time," said Joab, "when plants were so tormented! The most precious things we have, and yet they were treated far worse than human beings in concentration camps. "They were picked, which was in itself an appalling shock to their nervous systems (imagine how you would feel, Jael, if someone tore you in half), and left to die slowly in water, a lingering death from drowning and starvation, and then, often before they were dead, they were thrown on a rubbish heap to perish of thirst. It's almost inconceivable, the barbarity of those days." Jael agreed, for it was no use arguing with Joab. To change the subject--for she often told him things about herself that she suspected he might not approve of, for fear of losing touch with him, a danger that constantly threatened their relationship--she went on to relate her encounter with the Inspector. "You mean to say he really let you off the fine!" said Joab, frowning. "Yes," said Jael. "I think it's a pity Inspectors can't be reported," Joab broke out. Then, checking himself: "Well, perhaps not. The Dictator knows best. Darling Dictator." "Darling Dictator," repeated Jael. "Still, another time I think you should protest. And by the way, have you taken your bromide?" Jael admitted that she hadn't, and hastily turning the cock of the urn, poured herself a stiff dose of the sticky stuff. Sitting down in front of her typewriter, which in certain moods reminded her of Joab, she addressed herself to her correspondence. Gradually the familiar deadening of sensation stole through her, a gentle tide, calming her agitation, putting the things that worried her further off, blurring their outlines in a film of whitish mist, but bringing nothing that she wanted nearer, confusing positive and negative, desire and aversion, until she could think of things she liked and disliked without feeling there was much difference between them. "Are you sure you haven't taken too much?" asked Joab, eyeing the medicine glass. He spoke as if he was warning a confirmed toper against excess, but there was real concern in his voice and Jael was touched by it, though she suspected it was due to bureaucratic zeal that she should not exceed the prescribed dose. "Well, I felt a bit nervy," she said. "Why?" he demanded. Jael sighed. It was so difficult to explain anything to him. "Oh, it's all to do with my face, I suppose," she said. "Your face?" said Joab, staring at it. "Yes, wondering whether to have it Betafied." "You haven't had it Betafied!" Joab exclaimed. "No, hadn't you noticed?" "Not till this moment," Joab said. "I had taken it for granted that you would. Oh, Jael!" he added, in sorrow as well as in anger. "What an example to set!" "Don't