She talked, at first easily, naturally, and inviting, as it were, return confidences.
Then, quite suddenly, she realised that she simply wasn't believed, that she was considered a wicked little girl "for making things up so," that there was no hope at all for her unless she abandoned her "lying ways." The shock of this discovery flung her straight back upon herself; if they refused to believe these things, then there was nothing to be done.
But for herself their incredulity should not stop her.

She became a very quiet little girl--what her nurse called "brooding." This incredulity of theirs drove them all instantly into a hostile camp, and the affection that she had been longing to lavish upon them must now be reserved for other, and, she could not help feeling, wiser persons.

This division of herself from the immediate world hurt her very much.

From a very early age, indeed, we need reassurance as to the necessity for our existence.

Barbara simply did not seem to be wanted.
But still worse: now that her belief in certain things had been challenged, she herself began to question them.