 Why did Pembroke ask Mary Ann about children?
THE PERFECTIONISTS By ARNOLD CASTLE ILLUSTRATED by SUMMERS Is there something wrong with you? "Good day, sir," said Pembroke with an amiable smile. Opening the desk drawer, which was almost empty, Pembroke removed an automatic pistol fitted with a silencer. The series of events leading up to Pembroke's present occupation had commenced on a dismal, overcast evening in the South Pacific a year earlier. Standing on the forward deck, Pembroke was one of the first to perceive the peculiar odor and to spot the immense gray hulk wallowing in the murky distance. Then the explosion had come, from far below the waterline, and the decks were awash with frantic crewmen, officers, and the handful of passengers. Only two lifeboats were launched before the Elena Mia went down. Pembroke came as close to being a professional adventurer as one can in these days of regimented travel, organized peril, and political restriction. Life had given him much and demanded little, which was perhaps the reason for his restiveness. Loyalty to person or to people was a trait Pembroke had never recognized in himself, nor had it ever been expected of him. Lacking such loyalties, Pembroke adapted quickly to the situation in which he found himself when he regained consciousness. One in particular, an attractive woman of about thirty, tossed back her long, chestnut locks and gazed up intently at Pembroke as he passed. "You're not casual enough, for one thing," said Pembroke, deciding to play along with her for the moment. Pembroke proposed. Pembroke left the beach and walked through several small specialty shops. Pembroke watched with lifted eyebrows as the clerk whisked the bizarre statuette underneath the counter. "Don't try to go so fast and you won't fall down," suggested Pembroke. "Well, they've got a point," said Pembroke. "Incidentally, just where are we, anyway? "Puerto Pacifico," she told him. But as he left the shop he began checking off every west coast state, city, town, and inlet. None, to the best of his knowledge, was called Puerto Pacifico. "Which way is it to San Francisco?" asked Pembroke. Pembroke watched him hurry off to service a car with a sense of having been given the runaround. "Right," said Pembroke wearily. "Perfect," Pembroke told him. One more thing," Pembroke said. "All cargo ships, I'll bet. No passengers," said Pembroke. Pembroke returned to the hotel. The topic of the conversation turned out to be precisely what Pembroke had predicted.
 He wants to know why there aren't children around
 He wants to know why there aren't children around  He wants to know if she would ever have children with him  He wants to see if this will be more than a one-night stand  Wanting children is considered an imperfection