"Daddy, tell me the story of Casim Ammeh. That naughty boy who hurt your poor face."
To Pansy it was some new Arabian Nights, vastly interesting because her father was one of the principal characters. Although she had heard it quite fifty times, she was ready to hear it quite fifty times more.
"But, my darling, you've heard it scores of times," Barclay said one day.
For all that he told the story again.
Quietly she listened until the end was reached. Then she said:
"I don't like him. Not one little bit. Do you like him, Daddy?"
"To tell you the truth, Pansy, I did like him. He was a very brave boy."
"I shall never like him, because he hurt you," she said firmly, her little flower-like face set and determined.
"Well, my girlie, you're never likely to meet him, so it won't make much difference to him whether you like him or not."
But—in the Book of Fate it was written otherwise.