Janet, catching the unfriendly glance from the mirror, continued on her way, hot indignation kindling her blood. She could invent excuses for her mother’s hostility, unreasonable as she considered it, but Emily’s censorious manner was altogether intolerable. In her own room she changed her costume to a simple black skirt and a plain white blouse. Claude and Kips Bay receded to another world while she nerved herself for the coming ordeal. In about half an hour, the maid came up with a message that Mr. Barr wished to see Janet in the back parlor. She promptly went downstairs and discovered her father pacing the floor in agitation. It was hard to believe that this tall, imposing man was a moral weakling or that his eagle’s bearing concealed a pigeon’s heart. "Jenny," he said, on the thinnest fringe of reproach, "thank Heaven you’re back!" The mere sight of his favorite daughter cooled his phantom anger. All he wanted now was to see his wife placated at any price. For he, poor man, always became the scapegoat, no matter who the criminal was. "How could you give us such a fright, Jenny?" he continued, referring to her absence. "Really, father, I can’t send you hourly bulletins of my whereabouts, can I? It’s not my fault that I’ve outgrown childhood. It’s a law of nature." "You don’t consider your mother," he said, plaintively. "You know how it upsets her to be disobeyed." "I’m sorry, father. But mother will have to get reconciled to the facts of biology. When the young of animals grow up, instinct makes them follow their own bent, even at the cost of disobliging their parents." Janet felt rather proud and a little surprised at hearing herself talk in this bold, scientific style. She wished she could repeat it to her mother, but secretly doubted her ability. "That may be," said Mr. Barr, on whom her biological views were completely thrown away. "But remember that she has been sick all day, sick with worry over your escapade!" "Nonsense," replied Janet, unmoved. "My escapade had nothing to do with it. Her bad temper has made her ill. It always does, and nobody knows better than she how useful the weapon is. When everything else fails, she gets sick with rage, and takes to her bed until she gets her own way to the last dot. We cringe and cower before her sham illnesses—" "Janet! You mustn’t speak of your mother like that. She _is_ ill. She lay awake the whole night and didn’t touch a morsel of food all day." "No doubt she enjoyed tormenting herself and blaming the result on me. But I don’t believe that my absence was really a source of worry to anyone." "Janet, I stayed up until three o’clock for you. And that was after leaving the bank late and stopping at the Montague Library to get the books you wanted." "Of course, you did, you foolish old dear," said Janet, in an access of remorse. She put her arms affectionately round his neck. It was not easy to get over her childhood idolatry of him.