She nodded, counted on her fingers, and said: "That will be seven hours of viewing. No extras. The children behaved beautifully."
The screen darkened. Greg stared foolishly at it, then turned to Dennis.
"Where'd your mother go?"
Dennis smiled vaguely, and began to tinker with his molecule builder. Phyllis gurgled again.
Greg looked at the remains of the lunch that had hopped automatically from its can at noon, and the lowered reservoir of milk in the baby's feeder. Dora obviously hadn't been there since morning, and she didn't like to trust the babyview service so long. It was Wednesday, and bridge club was Tuesday. They'd subscribed to the telebuying service, so Dora hadn't gone shopping for months. The new baby wasn't due for five months, so a hurry-up trip to a doctor was unlikely....
The front door screeched, its bad hinge audible in the nursery, and Greg relaxed. "I'm back here, Dora," he called, and headed for the hall, closing the nursery door behind him.
Greg saw the policeman before he saw Dora. She was being lead toward the living room sofa, her face white, her coat soiled.
"What's wrong?" Greg rushed forward.
"You're Marson? Relax. Your wife just got excited for a minute. Lots of them try what she did. We won't hold it against her."
Dora pressed close to Greg, her head pushing against his chest, her body trembling. Reproachfully, the policeman was saying: