t the room was filled with the subdued
sound of a cool, melancholy music--Grieg, or some other composer, with
whom I was unfamiliar, exotic and reminiscent in mood, cool, and quiet
with a touch of acutely sweet pain. I listened to it in silence for a
while. It was so subtle and pervasive, however, that it seemed to play
directly upon the subconscious mind, so that the listener could go on
thinking and talking uninterruptedly without losing any of the feeling
of the melody.

* * * * *

"Have you no private possessions?" I asked. "Things that you share with
no one? Your own books, your own music, your own jewelry, perhaps?"

"We have no need of them," he replied. After a moment's thought, he
added, "We have our own emotions, and our own work--that's all. We do
not care for jewels, or for decoration for its own sake. The things we
use and see daily are beautiful in themselves, through their perfect
utility and their outward symbolism of utility and creation. Our tools
and our furniture are beautiful according to our own conceptions of
beauty--as you can see." He made a gesture about the room.

"And who serves you with those meals, and the music, and the knowledge
you learn in your sleep? Who does the work?"

"We all do the work. Each of us has his own work. Each of us is a
craftsman and a creative artist. The real work is done by machine--our
machines are the basic structure of our life. But we have men, highly
trained and fitted temperamentally for their professions, who watch and
direct the machines. It is a matter of a few hours a day, devoted to
fine problems in mechanics or building or invention. The rest of our
time is our own, and the machines go on moving automatically as we have
directed them to move. If every man on earth should die this morning, it
would be perhaps fifty years or a century before the last machine
stopped turning."

"And the rest of the time?"

It was Selda who answered this time. "We live. We devote ourselves to
learning and creative thought. We study human relations, or we wander
through the forests and the mountains, increasing the breadth and
significance of our minds and emotions." Selda's voice, rising suddenly
after her long silence, startled me, and I looked at her, disturbed
again by some subtle attraction exercised over me by her body. We were
silent a while, then I relapsed into my inner questionings, and turned
to Edvar.

"You must live under a