Archie, a true philosopher, bore this hostility with fortitude, but
it worried Lucille.

"I do wish father understood you better," was her wistful comment
when Archie had related the conversation.

"Well, you know," said Archie, "I'm open for being understood any
time he cares to take a stab at it."

"You must try and make him fond of you."

"But how? I smile winsomely at him and what not, but he doesn't
respond."

"Well, we shall have to think of something. I want him to realise
what an angel you are. You ARE an angel, you know."

"No, really?"

"Of course you are."

"It's a rummy thing," said Archie, pursuing a train of thought which
was constantly with him, "the more I see of you, the more I wonder
how you can have a father like--I mean to say, what I mean to say
is, I wish I had known your mother; she must have been frightfully
attractive."

"What would really please him, I know," said Lucille, "would be if
you got some work to do. He loves people who work."