“Well, who is she?” was Mrs. Baron’s abrupt, matter-of-fact question. “I don’t know. That’s the plain truth. I’m thinking more about _what_ she is--or what she seems to be.” He described the incident in the theatre, and explained how he had been in fear of a panic. “I felt obliged to carry her out,” he concluded rather lamely. “I quite see that. But that didn’t make you responsible for her in any way,” Mrs. Baron reminded him. “Well now, governess, do be friendly. I’m not responsible for her--I know that. But you see, she appears to be alone in the world, except for a Miss Barry, an actress. I couldn’t find her. Of course she’ll be located to-morrow. That’s all there is to it. And let’s not be so awfully particular. There can’t be any harm in having the little thing in the house overnight. Honestly, don’t you think she is wonderful?” Mrs. Baron was diligently nursing her wrath. “That isn’t the question,” she argued. “I dare say a good many unidentified children are wonderful. But that would scarcely justify us in turning our house into an orphan asylum.” “Oh! An orphan asylum!” echoed Baron almost despairingly. “Look here, mother, it was just by chance that I ran across the little thing, and under the circumstances what was I going to do with her?” “There were the police, at least.” “Yes, I thought of that.” He went to the window and stood with his back to her. For a full minute there was silence in the room, and then Baron spoke. He did not turn around. “Yes, there were the police,” he repeated, “but I couldn’t help remembering that there was also I--and we. I had an idea we could do a good deal better than the police, in a case like this. I don’t understand how women feel, mother, but I can’t help remembering that every little girl is going to be a woman some day. And I’ve no doubt that the kind of woman she is going to be will be governed a good deal by seemingly trivial events. I don’t see why it isn’t likely that Bonnie May’s whole future may depend upon the way things fall out for her now, when she’s really helpless and alone for the first time in her life. I think it’s likely she’ll remember to the end of her days that people were kind to her--or that they weren’t. We’ve nothing to be afraid of at the hands of a little bit of a girl. At the most, we’ll have to give her a bed for the night and a bite to eat and just a little friendliness. It’s she who must be afraid of us!--afraid that we’ll be thoughtless, or snobbish, and refuse to give her the comfort she needs, now that she’s in trouble.” He paused. “A speech!” exclaimed Mrs. Baron, and Baron could not fail to note the irony in her voice. She added, in the same tone: “The haughty mother yields to the impassioned plea of her noble son!” Baron turned and observed that she was smiling rather maliciously. “You’d better go up and look after her,” she added. “Flora will be home before long.” CHAPTER IV A CRISIS