They were all assembled in the sitting-room, and each was silent and self-centred when Baron dropped the evening paper to the floor and addressed Bonnie May when she entered the room, in the manner of one who has forgotten something. “You’re not ready to go with me to the Thornburgs’,” he said. “You know we ought to be starting before long.” The effect of this casual utterance was quite electrifying. The elder Baron dropped his paper, also, and removed his glasses. Flora, searching through a box of letters with some more or less definite end in view, permitted several envelopes with their contents to slip to the floor. She turned a gaze of marked disfavor upon her brother. Mrs. Baron merely swallowed with difficulty and looked decidedly uncomfortable. Bonnie May felt the tension in the atmosphere. They were trying to be nice and polite about it, she decided. “I only have to put my hat on,” she said. She succeeded wholly in creating the impression that she was delighted with their planning, as usual. Mrs. Baron arose with a little tremor in her limbs. Her attitude became that of one who is tenderly maternal and pathetically old. She bent over and took the child’s hands in hers. “My dear,” she said, “are you quite sure you are willing to go?” Bonnie May looked into her eyes and smiled. She was grateful for this proof of kindness. They were the nicest people, truly! They weren’t going to permit her to feel offended. “Oh, yes!” she said brightly. Mrs. Baron released her hands and turned away. “I think it will be very nice to go,” added Bonnie May. “You know, when people see too much of one another, they--they get tired of one another!” “I dare say!” responded Mrs. Baron. She was determined the ungrateful little thing shouldn’t see how wounded she was. “Well, if you’re to go to the Thornburgs, I ought to see that you are presentable.” She and the child disappeared, Mrs. Baron leading the way and Bonnie May looking back over her shoulder with a smile. “Extraordinary!” said the elder Baron. “She’s certainly a puzzle to me,” said Baron. “Maybe the Thornburgs can do better with her.” “Oh, don’t judge her just by that one tactless speech!” exclaimed Flora. “Don’t forget what a little thing she is.” Then silence fell in the room, and the typical Baron existence was maintained until the mistress of the house returned, guiding Bonnie May serenely before her--Bonnie May in her best dress, and in a saucy straw hat decorated with silk pansies, and with a ridiculous little hand-satchel depending from her hooked forefinger. “All right,” said Baron, leading the way toward the stairs. He had an idea that words had better be used sparingly. But at the door the departing guest turned for a last look, and instead of the masks of affable politeness she expected to behold there was instead a look of unmistakable regret on every face. Regret which amounted to actual grief, so far as Mrs. Baron and Flora were concerned.