At the reception desk two women sat, chatting in low tones and filing a stack of index cards. They continued their conversation until it reached a natural break—a perfectly judged interval designed to signal that they served the public on their own terms—before acknowledging the visitors.

“We’re here to see Dr. Sidney Lloyd-Jones,” Jean said, bridling.

At the mention of his name the two gatekeepers became instantly deferential.

“Oh yes, Miss Swinney, is it? He said you were to go straight through to his consulting room at the end of the corridor.”

“We’re expected,” Jean whispered to Mrs. Tilbury. “That’s a good start.”

Dr. Lloyd-Jones was a tall, donnish man in his late fifties, with wild hair and smudged glasses over which he peered, blinking, as though dazzled by the manifestation of parthenogenesis-in-the-human-female before him. He shook hands with them all, even Margaret, before summoning his colleague from next door to appraise the resemblance between mother and daughter.

“This is Dr. Bamber from the department of pathology,” said Dr. Lloyd-Jones as the five of them stood awkwardly in his consulting room like guests at a sherry party. “He will be doing the analysis of the blood tests. He is a great authority on blood types, so you can have absolute confidence in his findings.” He turned to Dr. Bamber. “A good start, wouldn’t you say?”

“It could hardly be better.”

They beamed at each other and then at Mrs. Tilbury. Jean had the feeling that they were already sharpening their scalpels, ready to slice her up for microscope slides.

“I suppose it must be a nice change not to have to go to the trouble of curing someone,” she observed.

“This is much more fun,” Dr. Bamber agreed. He was the younger, shorter and more personable of the two men. “Obviously we’re very excited. An opportunity like this doesn’t come along very often in one’s career. It’s very good of you to place yourselves in our hands.”

Jean glanced at his hands, which were unblemished by physical labor and almost unmanly in their smoothness.

“Perhaps,” Dr. Lloyd-Jones said, “you might take mother and daughter over to phlebotomy for the blood tests and you can answer any questions they may have, while I talk to Miss Swinney.”

As soon as the door had closed on them, Jean said, “How many other people are going to be involved in these tests? I’m only thinking of the story leaking out.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” came the reply. “It’s all absolutely confidential. I mean, patients’ medical notes are always confidential, but in this case I’m keeping them under lock and key. They will be referred to only as Mother A and Daughter. The nurses will just take the blood—they have no idea what we are testing for. Dr. Bamber will be doing all the analysis himself.”

“I didn’t mean to sound distrustful,” said Jean. “But this is a big story for us.”

“For us too, possibly.”

“I couldn’t bear it for one of the dailies to get wind of it prematurely.”