“Pardon me?”
“A limnologist. Limnology is the science of the life found on the banks of small bodies of water. It is a fascinating study, I assure you. There is only one chair of limnology in the world.”
“And you, I presume, are the incumbent?” asked the other politely.
“No, indeed! The merest amateur, on the contrary. I’m humbly hoping to discover the eggs of certain neuropterous insects. We know the insects, and we know they lay eggs; but how they conceal them has been a secret since the first dragon-fly rose from the first pool.”
“Ah! You are an entomologist, then.”
“To some extent.”
“So was I, once—when I had more time. Business has drawn my attention, though never my interest, away from it. I’ve entirely dropped my reading in the last year. By the way, were you here in time to witness the swarm of antiopas last month? Rather unusual, I think.”
“No, I missed that. What was the feature, specially?”
“The suddenness of the appearance. You know, Helmund says that—”
“Pardon me, who?”