A panel opened in the cabinet and the drink was there.
"Music?" asked the cabinet.
"If you please," said Bishop.
"Type?"
"Type? Oh, I see. Something gay, but maybe just a little sadness, too. Like the blue hour of twilight spreading over Paris. Who was it used that phrase? One of the old writers. Fitzgerald. I'm sure it was Fitzgerald."
The music told about the blue hour stealing over that city far away on Earth and there was soft April and distant girlish laughter and the shine of the pavement in slanting rain.
"Is there anything else you wish, sir?" asked the cabinet.
"Nothing at the moment."
"Very well, sir. You will have an hour to get dressed for dinner."
He left the room, sipping his drink as he went - and the drink had a certain touch to it.