Childhood's End by Arthur C. Clarke

gets married". George flushed slightly and gave Jean a glance of reproof, but there was no sign that their hostess noticed the barb. She was friendliness itself as she ushered them into the main lounge, already half packed with a representative collection of Rupert's numerous friends. Rupert himself was sitting at the console of what seemed to be a television engineer's control unit: it was, George assumed, the device that had projected his image out to meet them. He was busily demonstrating it by surprising two more arrivals as they descended into the parking place, but paused just long enough to greet Jean and George and to apologize for having given their drinks to somebody else.
    "You'll find plenty more over there," he said, waving one hand vaguely behind him while he adjusted controls with the other. "Just make yourselves at home. You know most of the people here-Maia will introduce you to the rest. Good of you to come."
    "Good of you to invite us," said Jean, without much conviction. George had already departed towards the bar and she made her way after him, occasionally exchanging greetings with someone she recognized. About three-quarters of those present were perfect strangers, which was the normal state of affairs at one of Rupert's parties.
    "Let's explore," she said to George when they had refreshed themselves and waved to everyone they knew. "I want to look at the house."
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    George, with a barely concealed backward look at Maia Boyce, followed after her. There was a faraway look in his eyes that Jean didn't like in the least. It was such a nuisance that men were fundamentally polygamous. On the other hand, if they weren't. . . Yes, perhaps it was better this way, after
    511.
    George quickly came back to normal as they investigated the wonders of Rupert's new abode. The house seemed very large for two people, but this was just as well in view of the frequent overloads it would have to handle. There were two storeys, the upper considerably larger so that it overhung and provided shade around the ground floor. The degree of mechanization was considerable, and the kitchen closely resembled the cockpit of an airliner.
    "Poor Ruby!" said Jean. "She would have loved this place."
    "From what I've heard," replied George, who had no great sympathy for the last Mrs. Boyce, "she's perfectly happy with her Australian boy-friend."
    This was such common knowledge that Jean could hardly contradict it, so she changed the subject.
    "She's awfully pretty, isn't she?"
    George was sufficiently alert to avoid the trap.
    "Oh, I suppose so," he replied indifferently. "That is, of course, if one likes brunettes."
    "Which you don't, I rake it," said Jean sweetly.
    "Don't be jealous, dear," chuckled George, stroking her platinum hair. "Let's go and look at the library. What floor do you think that will be on?"
    "It must be up here: there's no more room down below. Besides, that fits in with the general design. All the living, eating, sleeping and so on's relegated to the ground flopr. This is the fun and games department-though I still think it's a crazy idea having a swimming-pool upstairs."
    "I guess there's some reason for it," said George, opening a door experimentally. "Rupert must have had skilled advice when he built this place. I'm sure he couldn't have done it himself."
    "You're probably right. If he had, there'd have been rooms without doors, and stairways leading nowhere. In fact, I'd be afraid to step inside a house that Rupert had designed all by himself."
    "Here we are," said George, with the pride of a navigator
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    making landfall, "the fabulous Boyce collection in Its new home. I wonder just how many of them Rupert has really read."
    The library ran the whole width of the house, but was virtually divided into half a dozen small rooms by the great bookcases extending across it. These held, if George remembered correctly, some fifteen thousand volumes-almost everything of importance that had ever been published on the