She was clad in a costume of leaves, the prevailing color of which was a deep green, rising to natural tints of yellow. She wore a hood which was cunningly fashioned from one big leaf, around which an automobile veil of the gauziest texture was wound so that it concealed her face. She began unwinding this veil as she spoke her first lines. “Back again where the storms are!” she was saying: “Ah, it is good, after that dreadful calm.” Baron realized that his mother had lifted her hands to her bosom as if to stifle a cry. For himself, a thrill shot through his body, and then he leaned forward, rigid, amazed. For when the Sprite had removed the last fold of her veil and faced the audience he beheld again, after long waiting and vain search, the lost guest, Bonnie May. She wore her hair in a little golden knot at the crown of her head; the waist-line of her dress was just below her arms, and a pair of tiny golden sandals adorned her feet. When she would have lain the veil aside a screen of leaves parted and a Titan sprang to her side to render service. And so the play began. But for the moment Baron could not think about the play. He was thinking of Baggot--Baggot, who had known all the time. Then again he felt a touch on his arm and, turning, he found himself looking into the playwright’s eyes; and he could perceive only the delight of a childish creature, jubilant because he had achieved an innocent surprise. He tried to respond with a smile--and could not. But little by little the play caught his attention. The impression grew upon him that “The Break of Day” was a play of that indefinable quality which goes unfailingly to the heart. But more--he realized that Bonnie May was carrying her audience with her with the ease and certainty of an artist. She ceased to be on trial almost immediately, and those who watched her began to feel rather than to think, to accept rather than to judge. When the first intermission came Baron slipped out of the box and went in search of Baggot, whom he found standing apart in the foyer. “I don’t have to tell you I’m glad,” he began; and then, with furrowed brow, he added, “but surely....” Baggot read his thought accurately. “I wanted to give you the surprise of your life! You can’t help being pleased?” “Pleased! Certainly! But we’ve been distressed about her.” “Oh--distressed! Well, she belongs to the theatre. She always has. _I_ saw that right away!” “But if we’d only known! I don’t suppose we could have stood in the way.” “But it was her idea--at first. She didn’t want you to know. I mean when we put the piece on here for a try-out--at first.” “You don’t mean----”