RUTH MADSEN AT BAT CIRCUMSTANCE A Short Story By Shirley Mills THERE were seven separate records to the symphony. It was the kind of music that set the same mood in concert hall, dime store, or dimly lighted street. Shelly had always been fond of it, because it made her feel a part of something unreal and fascinating, something that remained forever the same no matter what the influencing factors around it might be. She imagined herself to be in a strange world of space she and Rel alone. "It used to be Rel's favorite, too," Shelly thought, remembering the endless number of times he had played it the last night he had seen her. He had been silent during the playing of the first three recordings. As she watched him staring out of the window, Shelly knew his thoughts mingled somewhere: far above the highest point hers were capable of reaching. "I'm going to miss all this," he said quietly, turning from the window. "I've never really known you before tonight, Shelly. Do you know you're very lovely don't laugh I mean it. I never knew before tonight, but you're lovely. I like your hair. It's long, and I like long hair. You're cute, Shelly. Darned if you aren't cute." Shelly laughed softly. "I haven't changed over night, you know. I had the same face yesterday that I have today." "If you'd told me a year a-go I'd ask you to go steady, I'd have laughed right in your face." "Would you ask me now?" Shelly asked with annoyed interest. "Not now. I'm going away tomorrow, remember? But if I did, Shelly, if I weren't going away tomorrow, and I did ask you to go steady, what would you say?" "I'd laugh in your face," Shelly reproached him sarcastically. Rel smiled. "Good one, Wiley, didn't have my angles guarded. But seriously, Shelly, what would you say?" "I'd say no." Rel was silent, then: "I suppose you have a reason?"