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"Oh, you mean Susie Pickett?" said Stud. "Is she a Commie? If she's a Commie I'll be a fellow traveler."

"That's the one." He realized, quite suddenly, that at least once each day since the Eaton party he'd thought of her. She'd said, "I want you to call me," and it had seemed a definite invitation, and not cocktail courtesy. He wondered why he hadn't called before, and decided he had been a little afraid. Of what? Well, he wasn't handsome. He had a half-inch more of nose and chin than is usually allotted, and had always thought of himself as singularly gawky. This hadn't seemed to matter to the girls in Milan or Vienna, or Washington either since he'd been back. So he must have been afraid because she worked in the Secretary's office, and therefore was not common flesh, and approachable, until his application had been approved. He knew this was silly. It was a reflex from his boyhood, when he had been silently aware of the social barrier his father could never pass.

"Well, what about her?" Stud said. "If you're going to celebrate tonight, why experiment with new stuff?"