“She told me there had been an accident and that you were in bed. I didn’t wait for any more.” “But you can see it’s nothing. I can’t understand your being so excited.” She went closer to him, and he could see that her body was quivering. “Is it something that wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t gone away?” she asked. “It’s nothing at all--and it would have happened in any case. I’ve only sprained my ankle. I’m ashamed to mention such a little thing. And for goodness’ sake, don’t look as if I’d had my head cut off and you were to blame.” She sat down a distance from his bed, a strangely unhappy little creature. Her sharp uneasiness gave place to a dull, increasing apathy. She was not looking at Baron now. He couldn’t stand that. “Did you see the play last night?” he asked pleasantly. She stared at him. “Did I see it? Certainly not. How could I?” She was studying his eyes, and swiftly the misery in her own was multiplied many times. He almost lost patience with her. “Well, good gracious! Don’t take it so much to heart. There will be other chances. It made good, you know. It will have a run sometime. We’ll see it, you and I together.” “Yes,” she said, and sighed. A settled look of misery returned to her eyes. * * * * * She did not leave the mansion for many days. Her sprightly moods returned to her occasionally; yet it was not to be ignored that in some strange fashion she was changed. She spent much of her time in Baron’s room. She became almost irritatingly eager to serve him. She seemed to be wishing to atone for something--to re-establish herself in her own confidence and respect. That was how it seemed to Baron, after he had observed her studiously a score of times. Occasionally he drove her from his room, achieving this by gay upbraidings. He insisted upon having the daily lessons attended to, and it was with the liveliest interest that he listened to the little tinkling melodies she played, slowly and with many an error. He realized that a great deal of progress was being made. His mother was patient, and Bonnie May was a painstaking pupil. Baggot came in in the course of a day or two. He was cultivating a new sort of manner, in which there was much condescension. His tone seemed to say: “You see, I succeeded, even if you _did_ fail me.” “I’m sure the play is going to be a winner,” said Baron. “Oh, yes--it will go all right. I’m overhauling it a bit. We only gave it that first performance so I could see just how to finish it, and to get our copyright, and that sort of thing. It will go on regularly, you know, this fall.” Baggot had received his promotion, Baron reflected. He would go forward now into a more active life. He would probably be seen at the mansion a time or two again, and that would be the end of him, so far as the Barons were concerned. * * * * *