Brad just said: “Sure, if you like, but I warn you, the smell’s worse when you get close.”

We walked down a stone corridor and into another room. It was full of cages, numbered and tagged and placed methodically on platforms round the walls. The cats had had their milk and were sleepily washing themselves; they purred in anticipation and rubbed their heads against the wire when he went near them. My mother looked hypnotizes as she followed him from cage to cage. She asked him how the cats were obtained. “I suppose the University buys them from somebody,” he answered. “Most of them are strays—they’re often half- starved when they first come here. We feed them well, of course—they have to be healthy before they’re any use.”

Without reply see suddenly opened the door of one of the cages. A black and white cat squirmed eagerly into her arms and tried to reach up to her chin. See fondled it for a moment, then put it back in the cage. “What a pity I have to,” she whispered.

“You like cats?” he asked.

“I adore them. Do you?”

“Yes. Dogs too.”

It wasn’t a very intelligent end to the conversation but I could see it was the end. My mother was already putting on that glassy look she has when see is saying charming things and thinking of something else at the same time. I’ve often seen it at the tail end of a party. “I think perhaps I ought to be going…. So nice of you to ask me here and tell me everything. We must have you to the house again soon.”

He saw us down to the street, where Henry was waiting. In the car my mother was silent for a while, then she said: “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have poked my nose in.”

When I didn’t answer she added: “I suppose they have to do it.”

“He doesn’t. They weren’t his.”

She was silent again for some time, then asked suddenly: “Do you think you understand him?”

“Not after the way he talked to you today.”

“Why, what was wrong about that?”

“Nothing, only I’d always thought he was reserved and shy.”

“He is.”

“Not with you. He told you more in five minutes than he’d tell me in five years.”

“Wait till you’ve known him five years. You’ll be a better age.”

“So you think that’s why he doesn’t talk to me as he does to you? Because I’m too young?”

“Perhaps. Darling, don’t be annoyed. And I might be wrong too. I’ve never met scientists before. They must be queer people. The way they can do such things … and yet have ideals. The distant goal—he’s got his eyes fixed on it and he can’t see anything nearer…. And all his hard life and early struggles haven’t taught him anything. He doesn’t realize that even in the scientific world you’ve got to get about and make friends if you want to be a success.