Her head went up. "Yes. Perhaps you do have to fight for what you get. But I'd rather die fighting than smothered."
He laughed a good boyish laugh. "Does Barry know that you feel that way?"
"I'm afraid," penitently, "that I make him feel it, sometimes. And he doesn't know that it is because I care so much. That it is because I want him to be like—father."
He smiled into her misty eyes. "Perhaps if you weren't so militant—in your methods——"
"Oh, that's the trouble with Barry. Everybody's too good to him. And when I try to counteract it, Barry says that I nag. But he doesn't understand."
Her voice broke, and by some subtle intuition he was aware that her burden was heavier than she was willing to admit.
She stood up and held out her hand. "Thank you so much—for letting me talk to you."
He took her hand and stood looking down at her.
"Will you remember that always—when you need to talk things out—that the Tower Room—is waiting?"
And now there were steps dancing up the stairs, and Barry whirled in with Little-Lovely Leila.