"Talk on, talk on—you'll get to the point eventually. When you're through, I'd like to show you around the place. I'm very proud of my gardens. You're sort of responsible for them, you know."
Walker set his jaw and bored ahead. "However, at the time you left government service, you were pursuing certain lines of research—"
Millet leaned back and began laughing, his eyes squinted shut. "Walker, don't tell me they want me back!"
It seemed his chance to dominate the discussion again. "I don't think you'd be allowed back."
"Good," said Millet, looking up, his laughter fading into a smile. "I was a bit concerned for a moment."
There was silence in the room. Walker began to wish that he were somewhere else: Millet simply baffled him. He obviously did not care about his disgrace. Walker felt a resurgence of the old resentment.
Millet's face suddenly became very kindly. "Perhaps, as a fellow scientist"—Walker almost winced, and knew, furiously, that his response had shown—"you would be interested in knowing what I've been doing since my unhappy marriage with bureaucracy ended."
It was a welcome gambit, and Walker accepted it eagerly. "I certainly would. One of the reasons I came here, as a matter of fact."
Millet waved his pipe. "Good. Afterwards, you can stop beating around the bush, eh?"
"Yes, of course," mumbled Walker.