Thornburg had left the door open, and Baron, approaching, caught sight first of a considerable expanse of dazzling white shirt-front and then of the manager’s ruddy, smiling countenance. Evidences of prosperity were all about. A procession of motor-cars continued to stop before the theatre to deposit passengers. Throughout the lobby there was the shimmer of costly fabrics worn by women, the flashing of jewels, the rising and falling of gusts of laughter and a chaos of happy speech. And everywhere there was the glitter of onyx panels and pillars, and the warmth of hooded lights, and the indefinable odor of fine raiment and many delicate perfumes. Thornburg seized Baron’s hand and shoved the door to with his foot. Happiness radiated from him. “I’ve a secret to tell you,” he began. “I want you to be one of the first to know.” “Let’s have it!” responded Baron, trying to reflect a little of the manager’s gayety. “You’ll remember my telling you that I had a little daughter by my first wife?” “I remember.” “I’ve found her again!” “Ah, that’s fine!” “And that isn’t all. You’re going to see her to-night.” Baron waited. “She’s the girl they’ve been making all that fuss about in Chicago--who’s been known only as ‘The Sprite.’ She’s got the leading part in ‘The Break of Day.’” Baron felt his way cautiously. He couldn’t mar such superb complacency, such complete happiness. “And Mrs. Thornburg--” he began haltingly. “God bless her, it’s all right with her. She knows, and she’s as happy as I am.” Baron shrunk back with a sense of utter loss. “Thornburg,” he said, “I want you to tell me--is the little girl the daughter of--of Miss Barry?” The manager clapped a heavy hand on Baron’s shoulder. “No,” he responded. And after a moment’s almost pensive reflection he regained his buoyant manner and resumed. “I’d like you to meet her. Between acts, or after the play. You and your family. She’s young. I think a little attention, especially motherly attention, will mean a lot to her just now. Of course she mustn’t be worried to-night; but suppose we make up a little party, after the performance, and make her feel that she’s got friends here?” Baron couldn’t think of refusing. “I’d have time to pay my respects, at least,” he agreed. “And I’ll put the case before my mother and the others, just as you have stated it. I think perhaps she’ll consent.” “That’s a good fellow. I’ll be looking for you,” concluded Thornburg, and then he joyously shoved Baron out of the office. The footlights were being turned on and the asbestos curtain lifted as Baron returned to his seat. Then the orchestra began to play, and under cover of the music Thornburg’s secret and his invitation were passed on to Mrs. Baron and to the others in the box.