“Oh, how fortunate!” she began. “You’ll be able to help me, of course. I want to see the new star! I’d lost track of her.” Her practised smile and shifting eyes played upon Thornburg menacingly, inquiringly, appealingly. “I want to begin planning for her again. When her engagement here is over I mean to take her with me to the coast. She’s reached an age now when I can be of real help to her. Isn’t it wonderful--the way she has developed?” Thornburg had paused to hear her to the end. He realized that there was a pitiful lack of assurance--of conviction--in her manner. When she had finished he smiled tolerantly, yet with unmistakable significance. “No, Miss Barry,” he said, replying to her thought rather than her words. “That’s all ended now. When Bonnie May has finished her work here I shall see that she has a home in her father’s house.” The party moved into the dressing-room, where Bonnie May had been robbed of her fairy trappings and put into a modest frock. Her hair, released from its little knot, was falling about her shoulders and was being combed by a maid. But she escaped from the maid--and for the moment from all the life which the dressing-room implied--when she saw Mrs. Baron standing in her doorway. She had put her arms about the trembling old lady’s neck, and for the moment they were both silent. And then Mrs. Baron drew back and stood a moment, her hands framing Bonnie May’s face. “You do forget that I was a disagreeable old woman!” she murmured. “Oh, that!” came the warm response; “you know you forget just little slips when you are happy in your work. And I couldn’t have remembered such a little thing anyway, when you’d been so lovely to me!” She took Mrs. Baron’s hand in both her own and clung to it; and lifted it to her face and laid her cheek against it. “If you only knew how I’ve thought of you--of all of you--and longed for you! And how much I wanted you to see me at work, so you would--would _know_ me better! You know just talking doesn’t prove anything. I wanted so much to have you know that I was an--an artist!” In the theatre the orchestra was still playing while the people filed out. In the distance there was the muffled sound of the procession of motor-cars starting and of announcers shouting numbers above the din. It was Flora’s turn to press forward and take her seat beside Bonnie May now; and while Mrs. Baron stood aside, smiling quite happily, the manager spoke to her as if he were merely continuing a conversation which had been interrupted.