“It’s Bonnie May!” came back the eager response. “Oh!” she moaned. She smiled up at the man across the open space helplessly. Then she took her left hand into her right hand, and shook it affectionately. “You dear thing!” came back the word from Clifton. “Where have you been?” “Oh, why can’t I get at you?” was Bonnie May’s rejoinder, and she looked down at the ground and shuddered at the abysmal depths. The man she had called Clifton disappeared for a moment, and when he stood at the window again there was some one close beside him, looking out over his shoulder. “And Jack, too!” she breathed eagerly, yet fearfully. It occurred to her that some one must hear her, and drag her back into the tedious realm of conventionality again. For the moment she was almost inclined to regard herself as a kidnapped person, held apart from friends and rescuers. “If it isn’t the kid!” was the comment of the second man, and his eyes beamed happily. “You both rooming over there?” asked Bonnie May. “Since yesterday. We’ve got an engagement at the Folly.” “And to think of your being within--oh, I can’t talk to you this way! I must get to you!” “You and Miss Barry stopping there?” “Why, you see, I’m not working just now. Miss Barry----” She stopped suddenly, her eyes filling with terror. She had heard a step behind her. Turning, she beheld Baron in the doorway. “I thought I heard you talking,” he said, in quite a casual tone. “Was Thomason here?” “I was talking--to Thomason. My back was turned. He seems to have gone out.” She looked about the room, even under the bed. She didn’t want Baron to see her eyes for a moment. “Such a quaint old gentleman--isn’t he?” she commented. She had moved away from the window. She had almost regained her composure now. Baron’s brows contracted. He glanced toward the window at which she had been standing. In the depths of the room beyond he thought he could detect a movement. He was not sure. “Do you and Thomason talk to each other--quite a little?” he asked. He tried to make his tone lightly inconsequential. “That wouldn’t express it, so far as he is concerned. He won’t talk to me at all. I have to do all the talking.” “And do you--feel quite confidential toward him?” “Why, I think you might feel safe in talking to him. He doesn’t seem the sort that carries tales.” Baron went to the window and looked out. He could see nobody. But when he confronted her again his expression was harsh, there was an angry light in his eyes. “Bonnie May, you were talking to some one in the other house. You were mentioning Miss Barry. You weren’t talking to Thomason at all.” She became perfectly still. She was now looking at him steadily. “I was talking to Thomason until he went out,” she said. “Then, as you say, I was ‘talking to some one in the other house.’ Why? Why not?”