“Not by a thousand miles,” agreed Thornburg. His thoughts seemed to have been transferred easily to the players who were gone. But when Baron emerged from the theatre and lost himself in the throng which the fine May forenoon had attracted from hotels and side streets, his face brightened with the joy which he felt he need no longer conceal. “She’s ours!” were the words that sang within him. “We’re going to keep her!” CHAPTER IX A DISAPPOINTING PERFORMANCE Baron looked at his watch twice as he climbed the stairs. Yes, the family had had time to return from church; but they had not done so. Mrs. Shepard was busy in the dining-room, but otherwise the house was unoccupied. Silence reigned in the upper regions. Thomason, the houseman, was looking impatiently down from the upper landing; but Thomason didn’t count. He was probably hungry. Baron realized that he, too, was hungry. He went into the cheerful sitting-room and looked down upon the street, and instantly his attitude changed. There they came! And something was wrong. Oh, plainly, something was wrong. Mrs. Baron’s head was held high; she was pale; her lips were compressed. There was nothing gracious in her carriage. She was marching. By her side walked Flora, keeping step with difficulty. She appeared to be fighting off all realization of her mother’s state. Mrs. Shepard was no longer present to lend her support to Bonnie May. The faithful servitor had come home immediately after Sunday-school to look after the dinner, and the child walked alone, behind her silent elders. Her whole being radiated defiance. She was apparently taking in every aspect of the street, but her casual bearing was obviously studied; the determined effort she was making was not to be concealed. Baron hurried down-stairs so that he might meet them in the hall, and engineer a temporary dispersement. He was affecting a calm and leisurely demeanor when the door opened and Mrs. Baron, followed by the others, entered. There was an ominous silence. Bonnie May caught sight of Baron and approached him with only a partial concealment of eagerness and hurry. Mrs. Baron and Flora ascended the stairs: the former leading the way sternly; the latter moving upward with wan cheeks and bowed head. Baron led the way into the sitting-room, Bonnie May following. He pretended not to see or to apprehend anything unusual. “Well, what do you think of Sunday-school?” he began gayly. “I think it’s fierce!” This took the form of an explosion. “It wouldn’t do even for one-night stands!” Baron felt the need of an admonitory attitude. “Bonnie May,” he said, “you should have discovered that it wasn’t a play. It was something real. It’s a place where people go to help each other.” “They certainly need help all right enough.” This with a quite unlovely jeering laugh. “I wonder what you mean by that?” “I suppose I meant the same thing you meant yourself.”