Scholar Ross shook his head and caught his gaze in mid-stray before it returned all the way to that alluring ankle. "Genetics, my dear Mrs. Hanford, is a statistical science, not a precise science." He waved vaguely at the comparison microscope. "There are your backgrounds for seven generations. No one--and I repeat, _no one_--could have foreseen the issue of a headstrong, difficult offspring from the mating of characteristics such as these. I checked most carefully, most minutely, just to be certain that some obscure but important conflict had not been overlooked by the signing doctor. Doctors, however, do make mistakes." Gloria Hanford dandled her calf provocatively and caused the hem of her skirt to rise another half-inch. The scholar's eyes swung, clung, and were jerked away again. "What's wrong with me, Scholar Ross?" she asked in a throaty voice. "You are headstrong, self-willed, wild, and--" his voice failed because he wanted to lash out at her for her brazen and deliberate display of her bare ankle; he struggled to find a drawing-room word for her that would not wholly offend the hapless parents and ultimately came up with--"meretricious." Gloria said, "I'm all that just because I enjoy a little fun?" "You may call it fun to scare people to death by flying your aircar below roof level along the city streets, but the Department of Air Traffic says that it is both dangerous and illegal." "Pooh!" Paul Hanford said, "Gloria, it isn't that you don't know better." Mrs. Hanford said, "Paul, how have we failed as parents?" Scholar Ross shook his head. "You haven't failed. You can't help it if your daughter is a throwback--" "Throwback!" exclaimed Gloria. "--to an earlier, more violent age when uncontrolled groups of headstrong youths formed gangs of New York and conducted open warfare upon one another for the control of Tammany Hall. Those wild days were the result of unregistered, unrestricted, and uncontrolled matings. Since no attempt was made to prevent the unfit from mating with the unfit, there were many generations of wild ones--troublemakers. It is not surprising that, with such a human heritage, an occasional wild one is born today." * * * * * The scholar took another surreptitious (he hoped) glance at the bare ankle and said, "No, you are not directly to blame. We know you wouldn't spawn a troublemaker willfully and maliciously. It's just an unfortunate accident. You must not despair over the past--but you _must_ spend your efforts to calm the troubled future." "What should we do, Scholar Ross?" asked Paul Hanford. "I have to speak bluntly. Perhaps you'd prefer the ladies to leave." "I'll not go," said Mrs. Hanford firmly, and Gloria added, "I'm not going to let you talk about me behind my back!"