The Caves of Steel by Isaac Asimov

make out that he was an hour and a quarter late. His throat was dry and raw with the thought that R. Daneel had won the first round, had won when he himself had stood by helpless.
    He thought of the youngster, Vince Barrett, the teen-ager whom R. Sammy had replaced. And of himself, Elijah Baley, whom R. Daneel
could
replace. Jehoshaphat, at least his father had been thrown out because of an accident that had done damage, that had killed people. Maybe it
was
his fault. Baley didn’t know. Suppose he had been eased out to make room for a mechanical physicist. Just for that. For no other reason. Nothing he could do about it.
    He said, curtly, “Let’s go now. I’ve got to get you home.”
    R. Daneel said, “You see, it is not proper to make any distinction of lesser meaning than the fact of intel—”
    Baley’s voice rose. “All
right
. The subject is closed. Jessie is waiting for us.” He walked in the direction of the nearest intrasection communo-tube. “I’d better call and tell her we’re on our way up.”
    “Jessie?”
    “My wife.”
    Jehoshaphat, thought Baley, I’m in a fine mood to face Jessie.

4.
INTRODUCTION TO A FAMILY

    It had been her name that had first made Elijah Baley really conscious of Jessie. He had met her at the Section Christmas party back in ’02, over a bowl of punch. He had just finished his schooling, just taken his first job with the City, just moved into the Section. He was living in one of the bachelor alcoves of Common Room 122A. Not bad for a bachelor alcove.
    She was handing out the punch. “I’m Jessie,” she said. “Jessie Navodny. I don’t know you.”
    “Baley,” he said, “Lije Baley. I’ve just moved into the Section.”
    He took his glass of punch and smiled mechanically. She impressed him as a cheerful and friendly person, so he stayed near her. He was new and it is a lonely feeling to be at a party where you find yourself watching people standing about in cliques of which you aren’t a part. Later, when enough alcohol had trickled down throats, it might be better.
    Meanwhile, he remained at the punch bowl, watching the folks come and go and sipping thoughtfully.
    “I helped make the punch.” The girl’s voice broke in upon him. “I can guarantee it. Do you want more?”
    Baley realized his little glass was empty. He smiled and said, “Yes.”
    The girl’s face was oval and not precisely pretty, mostly because of a slightly overlarge nose. Her dress was demure and she wore her light brown hair in a series of ringlets over her forehead.
    She joined him in the next punch and he felt better.
    “Jessie,” he said, feeling the name with his tongue. “It’s nice. Do you mind if I use it when I’m talking to you?”
    “Certainly. If you want to. Do you know what it’s short for?”
    “Jessica?”
    “You’ll never guess.”
    “I can’t think of anything else.”
    She laughed and said archly, “My full name is Jezebel.”
    That was when his interest flared. He put his punch glass down and said, intently, “No, really?”
    “Honestly. I’m not kidding. Jezebel. It’s my real-for-true name on all my records. My parents liked the sound of it.”
    She was quite proud of it, even though there was never a less likely Jezebel in the world.
    Baley said, seriously, “My name is Elijah, you know. My full name, I mean.”
    It didn’t register with her.
    He said, “Elijah was Jezebel’s great enemy.”
    “He was?”
    “Why, sure. In the Bible.”
    “Oh? I didn’t know that. Now isn’t that
funny
? I hope that doesn’t mean you’ll have to be my enemy in real life.”
    From the very beginning there was no question of that. It was the coincidence of names at first that made her more than just a pleasant girl at the punch bowl. But afterward he had grown to find her cheerful, tender-hearted, and, finally, even pretty. He appreciated her cheerfulness particularly. His own sardonic view of life needed the antidote.
    But Jessie never seemed to mind his