dy, involving once more an endless number of the most unpleasant
contacts? No, give me the past. It doesn't change; it's all there
in black and white, and you can get to know about it comfortably and
decorously and, above all, privately--by reading. By reading I know a
great deal of Caesar Borgia, of St. Francis, of Dr. Johnson; a few weeks
have made me thoroughly acquainted with these interesting characters,
and I have been spared the tedious and revolting process of getting to
know them by personal contact, which I should have to do if they were
living now. How gay and delightful life would be if one could get rid
of all the human contacts! Perhaps, in the future, when machines have
attained to a state of perfection--for I confess that I am, like
Godwin and Shelley, a believer in perfectibility, the perfectibility
of machinery--then, perhaps, it will be possible for those who, like
myself, desire it, to live in a dignified seclusion, surrounded by the
delicate attentions of silent and graceful machines, and entirely secure
from any human intrusion. It is a beautiful thought."

"Beautiful," Denis agreed. "But what about the desirable human contacts,
like love and friendship?"

The black silhouette against the darkness shook its head. "The pleasures
even of these contacts are much exaggerated," said the polite level
voice. "It seems to me doubtful whether they are equal to the pleasures
of private reading and contemplation. Human contacts have been so highly
valued in the past only because reading was not a common accomplishment
and because books were scarce and difficult to reproduce. The world, you
must remember, is only just becoming literate. As reading becomes more
and more habitual and widespread, an ever-increasing number of people
will discover that books will give them all the pleasures of social
life and none of its intolerable tedium. At present people in search
of pleasure naturally tend to congregate in large herds and to make a
noise; in future their natural tendency will be to seek solitude and
quiet. The proper study of mankind is books."

"I sometimes think that it may be," said Denis; he was wondering if Anne
and Gombauld were still dancing together.

"Instead of which," said Mr. Wimbush, with a sigh, "I must go and see if
all is well on the dancing-floor." They got up and began to walk slowly
towards the white glare. "If all these people were dead," Henry Wimbush
went on, "this festivity would be e