“I’m sure they’re nothing to worry about,” said Jean, though Margaret herself already seemed quite untroubled.

“I’m not worried,” came the reply. “I like them. Except when they say a word I don’t know—then it’s annoying.”

“When you say ‘a word you don’t know,’ do you mean a word you have heard before but don’t know the meaning of?”

“No. I mean a word I’ve never ever heard. Like Lindenbaum. Or phalanx.”

With this conversation, Jean felt herself being tugged, as if by a muddy tide, far out of her depth. How was it possible to hear a voice in your head saying a word that didn’t already exist in your head?

“You are much too clever for me,” she said, finding herself repeating, to her horror, a phrase her mother used to say to her and Dorrie to terminate any discussion that threatened to take an unconventional path. It had seemed like a compliment at the time, but it was a door flung shut in their faces, and now she was doing it herself. “I do like talking to you, Margaret,” she said. “You are much more interesting than most of the adults I know.”

“Mummy says I ask too many questions.”

“Asking questions is all right. It’s a sign of intelligence. How else can you find things out?”

Perhaps it’s just loneliness, Jean thought. She needs that rabbit or kitten. She considered other only children she had known; too much in the company of adults and sheltered from the weathering effects of siblings, they often seemed precocious or strange.

Margaret squinted up at her through sweeping eyelashes. “You’re nice,” she said with an air of finality, and Jean, unpracticed at receiving compliments, felt herself blushing with pleasure and surprise.

They had reached the foyer of the clinic now and there was Mrs. Tilbury emerging from the ladies’ cloakroom looking flustered and a little red around the eyes. She had reapplied powder to her nose but the skin beneath was taut and shiny. For an awful moment it occurred to Jean that she may have been worrying where Margaret had gone and fretting herself into a state of anxiety.

“I’m sorry—you must have been wondering where we’d got to.”

“No—I’ve only just come out.”

“Look, Miss Svinny bought me a magazine.” Margaret held up her copy of Girl for inspection.

“That was very kind of her.”

“Has something upset you?” Jean said, lowering her voice. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, it’s nothing.” Mrs. Tilbury’s voice was bright with self-control. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? They didn’t do anything to hurt you, did they?”

“No, not at all. It was all very painless. I was just . . .” She blinked a few times and shook her head. “So silly of me. I thought it would all be done and decided now.”

“Oh dear,” said Jean.

“But Dr. Bamber said this is just the beginning of many tests. It could be weeks or months.”

“I should have explained better,” said Jean, steering her toward a row of chairs. “I didn’t realize there was any great urgency.”