The large eyes regarded me helplessly. “Well, youve certainly caused me a lot of trouble....” Dorn returned with two women, one middleaged, the other slightly younger, who flowed around the girl like soapy water, effectually sealing her away from all further masculine blunders, uttering little bubbly clucks and sudsy comfortings. “Overwork, Backmaker,” Dorn mumbled. “Barbara’s been overworking terribly. You mustnt think—” “I don’t,” I said. “I’m just sorry she couldnt be made to realize what actually happened.” “Hypersensitive; things that wouldnt ordinarily ... it’s overwork. Youve no idea. She wears herself out. Practically no nerves left.” His face, pleading for understanding, looked even more melancholy than before. I felt sorry for him and slightly superior; at the moment at least I didnt have to apologize for any female unpredictability. “OK, OK; there doesnt seem to be any great harm done. And the girl appears to be in good hands now.” “Oh she is,” he answered with evident relief at dropping the subject of Barbara’s behavior. “I don’t think there’s anything more we can do for her now; in fact I’d say we’re only in the way. How about meeting Mr Haggerwells now?” “Why not?” The last episode had doubtless finished me for good so far as Barbara was concerned; whatever neutral report she might have given her father originally could now be counted on for a damning revision. I might as well put a nonchalant face on matters before returning to the world outside Haggershaven. Thomas Haggerwells, large-boned like his daughter, with the ginger hair faded, and a florid, handsome complexion, made me welcome. “Historian ay, Backmaker? Delighted. Combination of art and science; Clio, most enigmatic of the muses. The ever-changing past, ay?” “I’m afraid I’m no historian yet, Mr Haggerwells. I’d like to be one. If Haggershaven will let me be part of it.” He patted me on the shoulder. “The fellows will do what they can, Backmaker; you can trust them.” “That’s right,” said Dorn cheerfully; “you look strong as an ox and historians can be kept happy with books and a few old papers.” “Ace is our cynic,” explained Mr Haggerwells; “very useful antidote to some of our soaring spirits.” He looked absently around and then said abruptly, “Ace, Barbara is quite upset.” I thought this extreme understatement, but Dorn merely nodded. “Misunderstanding, Mr H.” “So I gathered.” He gave a short, selfconscious laugh. “In fact that’s all I did gather. She said something about a woman....” “Girl, Mr H, just a girl.” He gave a quick outline of what had happened, glossing over Barbara’s hysterical welcome.