His tone was that of one found in a guilty act. “Come in, come in, Barbara. Backmaker is after all something of a protégé of yours. Urania, you know—if one may stretch the ascription a bit—encouraging Clio.” “Really, Father!” She was regal. Wounded, scornful, but majestic. “I’m sure I don’t know enough about self-taught pundits to sponsor them. It seems too bad they have to waste your time—” He flushed. “Please, Barbara. You must, you really must control....” Her disapproval became open anger. “Must I? Must I? And stand by while every pretentious swindler usurps your attention? Oh, I don’t ask for any special favors as your daughter; I know too well I have none coming. But I should think at least the consideration due a fellow of the haven would prompt ordinary courtesy even where no natural affection exists!” “Barbara, please.... Oh, my dear girl, how can you ...?” But she was gone, leaving him distressed and me puzzled. Not at her lack of restraint but at her accusation that he lacked a father’s love for her. Nothing was clearer than his pride in her or his protective, baffled tenderness. It did not seem possible so willful a misunderstanding could be maintained. “You can’t judge Barbara by ordinary standards,” insisted Ace uncomfortably, when I told him what had happened. “I’m not judging her by any standards or at all,” I said; “I just don’t see how anyone could get things so wrong.” “She.... Her nature needs sympathy. Lots of it. She’s never had the understanding and encouragement she ought to have.” “It looks the other way around to me.” “That’s because you don’t know the background. She’s always been lonely. From childhood. Her mother was impatient of children and never found time for her.” “How do you know?” I asked. “Why ... she told me, of course.” “And you believed her. Without corroborative evidence. Is that what’s called the scientific attitude?” He stopped stock-still. “Look here, Backmaker—” a moment before I had been Hodge to him—“Look here, Backmaker, I’m damned tired of all the things people say about Barbara; the jeers and sneers and gossip by people who just aren’t good enough to breathe the same air with her, much less have the faintest notion of her mind and spirit—” “Come off it, Ace,” I interrupted. “I havent got anything against Barbara. The shoe is on the other foot. Tell her I’m all right, will you? Don’t waste time trying to convince me; I’m just trying to get along.”