The owner of the voice was a little old fellow, whose dry, weazened face
gave no hint of his years. I guessed that he was probably seventy, though
he might as easily be much younger. His skin was parchment-coloured and
cross-hatched by a thousand wrinkles and the hair under his skull-cap was
as white as snow, but he was as bright of eye and brisk of manner as a
youth of twenty.

"Yes, sir," I replied rather awkwardly; "I am Miss Winship."

"V'at for you study biology?" was his surprising query, uttered in a tone
between a squeak, a snarl, and a grunt.

"Because I wish to learn," I replied, after a moment's hesitation.

"No, mine vriendt," he snapped, "you do not vish to learn. You care
not'ing for science. You are romantic, you grope, you change, you are
unformed. In a vord, you are a voman. You haf industry--mine Gott, yes!--
and you vill learn of me because I am a man and because you haf not'ing
better to do. And by-and-by behold Prince Charming--and you vill meet and
marry and forget science. V'at for I vaste my time vit' you? Eh? I do not
know any voman who becomes a great scientist. Not so? T'ose young vomen,
t'ey vaste t'eir time and t'ey vaste mine."

I followed his gesture and saw two or three nice-looking girls in big
checked aprons amiably grinning at me. One of them by a solemn wink
conveyed the hint that such hazing of new arrivals was not unusual.

"You're paid to waste your time on me," I answered hotly. "I'm here to
work and to listen to you; my plans are my own affair, and if I never