She opened the drawing-room door, and watched while Flora wonderingly entered. Then she pulled the door to cautiously. She had heard a low, forlorn note of surprise in Flora’s voice, and Mr. Addis’s eager, whispered greeting. Then she opened the front door in time to prevent the newcomer from ringing. [Illustration: “You seem a little old for the part,” she suggested.] A young man of a rather assertive Bohemian appearance stood before her. “Hello!” was his greeting. The tone denoted surprise, rather than familiarity. He hastily added: “Excuse me--is Victor--Mr. Baron--in?” Bonnie May perceived that he was not quite comfortable, not at all self-possessed. He seemed to her a strange person to be calling on any of the Barons. Still, he seemed rather human. “I’ll see,” she said. “Please step inside.” She would make him wait in the hall, she decided. “Tell him, please, that Baggot has called--that I’ve brought the first act of my play.” “A play! Oh!” Again she hurried up the stairs; this time with unconcealed eagerness. When she entered Mrs. Baron’s room she hesitated. “If you’ll excuse me--” she faltered. “I’m looking for Mr. Victor.” Mrs. Baron sat more erect, the open volume in her lap. “Forming a little organization down-stairs?” she asked. “Some one’s called for Mr. Victor. I wanted to tell him.” “Very well. He’s in the library.” She nodded toward the adjoining room. Victor was alone in the library. He was in the attitude of one who is about to write, but he was not writing. He was glowering at the paper before him. He sprang to his feet eagerly when Bonnie May appeared. “I’ve been thinking about you,” he said. “Flora has, too. We meant to come and find you before long and get you away from Mrs. Shepard. We didn’t want to seem too eager, you know. We wanted to wait until the governess----” Bonnie May did not wait for him to finish; indeed, he seemed to have difficulty about finishing. “Mr. Baggot has called,” she said. “It’s about a play.” She was breathing uneasily. “And couldn’t I sit with you and listen, please?” she added. “Oh! Baggot! Baggot is one of my crosses, Bonnie May. Couldn’t you shut the door in his face? It would be quite proper. He is one of those silly fellows who think they are destined to write great plays. Couldn’t you go down and put him out?” She looked at him steadily without a word. She was smiling a little scornfully. “Very well. Suppose you go and ask him to come up--this time.” “And--do let me come too! They’ve often let me listen when new plays were being read.” “Such wanton cruelty!” He shook his head slowly, as if it were quite incredible. “Oh, well you may come, too,” he added.