Baron gave his whole attention to the waiter for a minute. He was trying to think of a response that wouldn’t concede too much. He held the strong cards now. It would be foolish to relinquish them. The waiter was gone now. “The fact is, Thornburg,” said Baron, “she doesn’t seem at all eager to accept your invitation. I’ve told her about it, and explained what a fine place you’ve got, and all that--and she just changes the subject. You know I didn’t agree to force her to act. That’s just what we both agreed not to do.” “Childish timidity--the first time,” said Thornburg. “If you’d bring her over once she’d get over feeling that way.” “She’s just about as timid as a sunbeam. She’d go anywhere if she thought she’d enjoy it. The fact is, she’s absolutely satisfied where she is, at present. Let the matter rest awhile. When things become monotonous I’ll call her attention again to your invitation.” Thornburg shook out his napkin violently. “That sounds like beating about the bush,” he said. “You know how to get a child started. ‘Oh, look!’ you say to them. Get them excited. Then they’ll do anything.” “I don’t want to get her excited,” replied Baron dryly. “Yes, that’s just it!” retorted the other. “A little excitement would be good for her. I see the advantage of having her at your place part of the time, but I see the advantage of having her with us, too. It would be a shame if she ever got to thinking highly of some of this polite flubdub--” He checked himself in embarrassment and brushed imaginary crumbs from his waistcoat. “Won’t you enlighten me as to what you mean by ‘polite flubdub’?” Thornburg became almost defiant. “Being chilly, for one thing. And not seeing people. That kind of business. It used to be all right, but it’s out of date now. Class distinctions and that sort of thing--that’s all done away with. You might as well hang a knitted tidy up in an art display. Nothing but the goods counts these days.” “No doubt you’re right,” responded Baron briefly. He felt it would be impossible for him to admit that he saw any special application in what Thornburg had said. A silence followed. Baron permitted a considerable degree of arrogance to stifle his friendlier thoughts. Thornburg had spoken offensively; which was rather less excusable than “polite flubdub.” Yet, Baron reflected, nothing in Thornburg’s manner could alter the fact that it might be greatly to Bonnie May’s advantage to accept the hospitality of the manager and his wife. The impression of the child in the theatre not long ago recurred to him--the imperative call upon her which the skill of the players had exerted. “You’re right, Thornburg,” he said finally. “I’ve been procrastinating-- that’s all. I’ll speak to her again. The next time I’ll even say ‘Oh, look!’--or words to that effect. In your own expressive phrase, we’ll give her a chance to decide which of us ‘has the better attraction to offer.’” * * * * *