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instrumentalists on this basis.”
    Sir Henry Rixon shortly departed; Dame Isabel sat musing a moment then rang the bell for tea. She turned to Roger. “Well? What did you think of Sir Henry?”
    “Very impressive,” said Roger. “The best possible man for the position.”
    Dame Isabel gave a dry chuckle. “I am happy to hear your approval.”
    “Yes, I’m looking forward to the trip.”
    Holker wheeled in the tea service; Dame Isabel poured two cups of tea with two decisive motions. “As I said before, Roger, I have no intention of taking you along. You would only be so much dead weight.”
    “I don’t see why I shouldn’t get some enjoyment out of the trip,” growled Roger. “All the parasites you’ve hired are complacent enough.”
    “Please do not call these people parasites, Roger; they are musicians.”
    “Parasites, musicians — it amounts to the same thing. The back-planet people won’t know the difference.”
    “No?” asked Dame Isabel with dangerous softness.
    “Of course not. The whole project is batty. These creatures are completely alien to us; how in the name of the Seven Muses can they appreciate music of any sort, let alone grand opera? My advice is: call the affair off and save no end of money!”
    Once more Dame Isabel gave her wintry chuckle. “At times, Roger, you become absolutely florid in your rhetoric. I am particularly impressed by your evocation of the Muses. But in your solicitude for my pocket-book you neglect certain facts. For instance, how do you explain the enormous success of the Ninth Company here on Earth?”
    Roger sipped his tea. “Well — they were almost human.”
    Dame Isabel said placidly, “There are hundreds of man-like races among the peoples of the galaxy.”
    Roger remembered his primary purpose. After a frowning study of his tea-cup he nodded slowly. “Well — you may be right. No doubt the trip will be interesting, and certainly someone should keep an accurate day-by-day journal.” Roger looked up as if struck by a sudden inspiration. “This is a job I’d like to take on myself. Eventually we could publish the journal as a documentary record of the trip. With photographs, soundstrips … You could write a foreword …”
    Dame Isabel started to speak, then stopped. Finally she said, “You believe you have the capacity to undertake a work of this sort?”
    “Of course! Writing is the profession for which I’m best suited.”
    Dame Isabel sighed. “Very well, Roger. I see that you’re determined to accompany the tour, and I suppose I must allow it.”
    “Thank you, Aunt Isabel.”
    “I suggest that you learn something of the history and development of grand operas, and try to cultivate at least a modicum of taste. You would feel foolish indeed if a native of a distant world showed a deeper feeling for our music than you did yourself.”
    “No fear of that,” said Roger, and Dame Isabel looked at him sharply, suspecting a possible ambiguity.
    “Perhaps I’d better look over the projected itinerary,” said Roger, “so that I can make a start on research.”
    Dame Isabel silently handed him a sheet of paper, which Roger studied a moment or two. He looked up with an expression of rueful wonder. “Some of these worlds are barely explored!”
    “Our itinerary,” said Dame Isabel, “is necessarily determined by the location of planets where we can expect a hospitable and appreciative audience. You see, Roger, that contrary to your beliefs, we are neither irresponsible nor impractical; we do not plan to perform Die Walküre before a colony of floating polyps or the like. Give us at least this much credit.”
    “Oh indeed.” Roger studied the list. “And which of these worlds is the highly-advertised Rlaru?”
    “Please restrain your sarcasm, Roger; your connection with the tour is still at best tentative. As for Rlaru, Captain Gondar will guide us there at the appropriate time. He has sound reasons for keeping his own counsel until after