He explained the mystery of powdered milk to her; reaching over for the
tin to examine it more closely, she tipped it over.

"I keep doing this sort of thing," she explained, "ever since I left
Lashnagar. Most things I touch I knock over."

"Weak co-ordination," he said.

"Whatever's that?" She paused in cutting a slice of cake with an
enormous clasp-knife Wullie had given her years ago.

He immediately looked consciously learned.

"Like a baby, you know--it grabs for a thing and can't aim at it. It
reaches a few inches the other side of it. It means your brain and body
are not on speaking terms."

"Oh, my goodness! Am I like that? Does it matter? How do you know all
about it?"

"I learnt it at the hospital."

"Oh, are you a doctor then?"

"No. N-not n-now," he stammered, and began to untie and retie his shoe
lace very carefully. "I--I was going to be."

"You must be clever," she said admiringly. "What a lot of things we can
talk about!"