It was for his ideals Joyce loved the alien. But ideals are conditioned reflexes.... Walter Harley glowered across the room at his daughter. He didn't like the willful tone that crept into her voice these days; he didn't like the way her gray eyes spread wide at him, the way her lips tensed, the way she drew herself up, tall and slim, an arch of determination. The darned girl had grown up too fast, that was the trouble. Joyce faced up to his scowl, shaky as she was. She knew what he was thinking