Flora perceived that he was deeply concerned; his attitude was even strikingly purposeful--and Victor usually appeared to have no definite purposes at all. “Yes,” he continued, clearly in answer to words from the other end of the wire, “I brought her home with me. I didn’t know what else to do. I thought somebody might have inquired at the theatre about her. If they do, you’ll let me know right away, won’t you? She’ll probably be with us here until she’s claimed.” He hung up the receiver. His eyes were unusually bright. “Here? Who?” demanded Flora. Baron beamed upon her. “Flora!” he cried. “I’m glad you’ve come. Something has happened!” “Who’s here?” “The renowned actress, Bonnie May.” “Please tell me!” she begged, as if he had made no response at all. “A little lost girl.” Then Baron briefly explained. Miss Baron’s eyes fairly danced. “What an adventure!” She added presently: “Is she--nice?” “Nice? That’s a woman’s first question every time, isn’t it?” Baron reflected. “I suppose so. I know she’s pretty--the very prettiest thing!” “And that’s a man’s first consideration, of course. What did mother say?” “Mother is--resigned.” They moved toward the stairway. “Try to persuade mother that a child doesn’t count,” Baron urged. “I’m sure Mrs. Grundy never had any children. None like Bonnie May, anyway. When you’ve once seen her----” They were ascending the stairway eagerly, whispering. A dozen years at least seemed to have slipped from their shoulders. They entered Mrs. Baron’s sitting-room quite eagerly. Mrs. Baron and Bonnie May were sitting quite close together, the guest in a low chair that was Flora’s. Mrs. Baron was maintaining the rôle of indulgent but overridden oracle; Bonnie May was amiably inclined to make allowances. They were conversing in a rather sedate fashion. “My sister, Flora, Bonnie May,” said Baron. The child came forward eagerly. “How lovely!” she exclaimed, extending her hand. Flora regarded the child with smiling eyes. “Oh! you mean the roses,” she said. “Yes, they are.” But she did not look at the flowers on her arm. She pushed a pennon-like fragment of veil away from her face and smiled quietly at the child. “I didn’t mean them,” explained Bonnie May. “I meant it was lovely that you should be--that I’m to have-- Do excuse me, I mean that _you_ are lovely!” Only an instant longer Miss Baron remained as if happily spellbound. A breath that was fragrant and cool emanated from her and her roses. The hue of pleasure slowly deepened in her cheeks. “You dear child!” she said at last, the spell broken, “I can’t remember when anybody has said such a thing to me before.” She laid the roses in her mother’s lap. “And to think we’re to keep her!” she added. “Overnight,” Mrs. Baron made haste to say. “Yes, she is to be our guest until to-morrow.” “But nobody has inquired for her,” said Flora. “Victor’s been telephoning. The police and the people at the theatre----”