But the larger faith of the little girl asserted itself. “Oh, don’t say that!” she begged. “She’d have been all right, if they’d really loved her in spite of all!” It was the reality of it that held her, Baron perceived--or her ability to see it as something real. The puppets, the make-believe--these were off the stage, for Bonnie May. The truth and beauty and reality were on it. He smiled thoughtfully as they all filed up the aisle, amid a babble of voices. The child might be wrong; but was it strange that so glorious an ignis fatuus should have power to lead her on to the end? As they left the theatre they passed Thornburg, standing near the entrance alone. For an instant there was a peculiar, inscrutable expression in his eyes; then he pulled himself together and smiled and lifted his hat. But after this perfunctory greeting was over, the manager steadily regarded Mrs. Baron, who did not look at him. That quiet, masked glance made Baron uncomfortable, and instinctively he stooped and took Bonnie May firmly by the hand. In another moment they were lost in the throng. CHAPTER XX CONCERNING LAUGHTER The next afternoon Baron received a very cordial letter from Thornburg. The manager was delighted with the fine account of the Fairyland opening that had been printed in the _Times_. That was the sum and substance of his letter. There was nothing about the compact to which Baron was a party. “Just the same, he’s got something up his sleeve,” Baron mused. And his next thought was: “But I’ve kept my word. If she doesn’t want to go there’s no reason why I should urge her to. She’s getting along all right where she is.” * * * * * Two weeks slipped by, and then one day at noon as Baron was emerging from the lobby of the _Times_ building he heard a familiar voice in the street. The Thornburg automobile stopped and the manager pushed the door open. “Been to lunch yet?” called Thornburg. “Just going,” was the response. Baron would have prevaricated if he’d had time to think; but now it was too late and he made the best of the matter as Thornburg pulled him into the car. “Come with me,” said the manager, and then he became silent as he threaded the machine through the down-town congestion. He did not speak again until they were in a comparatively quiet restaurant whose patronage was drawn chiefly from theatrical people who did not come in until late in the evening. Both men observed that they were to have the place practically to themselves, and then Baron was promptly given to understand what it was that Thornburg wanted. “That’s really a fine little girl,” said the manager, frankly regarding Baron across the table. “You mean Bonnie May. Yes, she certainly is. The fact is, you can’t begin to realize how uncommonly fine she is until you know her better.” “Well, that’s just the point. When _am_ I going to know her better? When is she coming to us?”