The man looked up from his papers and smiled. “I’m not typing too well with one hand, anyway. Come on in, Liz.” Standing shyly in the doorway with her black hair wetly plastered on her head she looked like a mermaid out of her element.

And to Elizabeth, Peter Hubbard in his pajamas, seemed a sweet boy at bedtime rather than the Harvard instructor always in steady possession of himself.

He asked amiably, “What do you want to talk about?”

The woman said gravely, “I just took a long bath and a lot of questions kept bubbling into my head.”

“Such as?”

“If you’re too tired, we can talk tomorrow.”

“You relax me,” he smiled. “Go on.”

“My question isn’t relaxing,” she said. “Do you really think all the roaches were back in that nest?”

“No. I’ve said there are bound to be strays. The volunteer firemen are watching, and they have the dry ice . . .”

“Aren’t the strays just as dangerous?”

“No,” he said again. “Without the central brain, they’re just bugs, Liz. They’re big and nasty and they can do some damage, but not in the organized way they did before.”

“Won’t they start another nest?”

The scientist regarded her doubtful expression soberly. “Not likely. This phenomenon was the result of a very unique combination of environmental and evolutionary forces. The odds are way against a repetition. We did destroy all the brain cells—that’s the important thing.” He added firmly. “Even if there should be a phylogenetic thrust again, it would take years and years.”

“So you really don’t see any more danger?”

“Isolated incidents, maybe. A general problem, no.”

“The people here owe you a great deal, Peter.”

“I’m glad your father sent me over.”

“So am I.” Elizabeth Carr looked at the man, her eyes clear windows. “I want to go back with you tomorrow,” she said straightfowardly. It sounded as she hoped it would—honest, not bold; truthful, not brash.

He responded in kind. “I want you to, Liz. But your grandfather needs you here right now. This has been awfully rough on him.”

“I know,” Elizabeth squinted. “Peter, can you please put out that light?” The desk gooseneck was shining directly into her face. Hubbard obliged. The room sank into its shadows, illuminated only by the small lamp next to the double bed. Elizabeth Carr was standing between the lamp and Hubbard’s eyes. The man grinned like a schoolboy. “I can see right through your nightgown, you know.”

Her ingrained impulse was to duck, but her smiling eyes invited the man to enjoy her. “What do you see?” she openly teased.

He laughed back, “All the way to Chatham.”

“Chatham? I thought biologists knew female anatomy.”

“The difference between anatomy and life is amazing . . .” Hubbard got up from the desk, took a step toward Elizabeth, and stopped. “You had better go back to your room.”