If I sit down somewhere, he decided, it may recognize me as human. What a stupid machine to have!
He started around the end of the table again, but the striped robot moved to intercept him. Robert stopped.
"Oh, well," he sighed, sitting sidewise on a corner of the table.
The robot hesitated, made one or two false starts in different directions, then halted. The situation had apparently not been included among its memory tapes. Robert grinned and lifted the cover of the nearest platter.
He managed to eat, despite his ungraceful position and what he considered the scarcity of the food. Just as he finished the last dish, he heard footsteps in the hall.
Marcia-Joan had dressed in a fresh robe, of crimson. Its thinner material was gathered at the waist by clasps of gleaming gold. The arrangement emphasized bodily contours Robert had previously seen only in historical films.
He became aware that she was regarding him with much the same suggestion of helpless dismay as the major-domo.
"Why, you've eaten it all!" she exclaimed.
"All?" snorted Robert. "There was hardly any food!"
Marcia-Joan walked slowly around the table, staring at the empty dishes.