“Do you, indeed?” She considered this. “Of course that’s a matter of opinion.” She abandoned the subject and seemed to be searching his face for a topic which might be more acceptable. “A good many things have happened to me,” she ventured presently. “I came within an inch of getting caught by the curtain once.” He had no idea what she meant. She continued: “It was in a regular tank town somewhere. I never pay any attention to the names of the little towns.” Her tone clearly conveyed the fact that she wished to get away from controversial topics. She waited, plainly puzzled, rather than discouraged, because she received no response. “You know,” she elaborated, “the audiences in the little towns don’t care much whether it’s something legitimate, or a tambourine show with a lot of musty jokes.” Still Baron’s inclination was to make no response; but really there was such an amazing contrast between her innocent beauty and her gamin-like speech that he could not easily ignore her. “I’m not sure I know the difference myself,” he confessed. “Well, you’d rather see ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin’ than a lot of Honey Boys, wouldn’t you?” “I’m afraid I’d be in favor of the Honey Boys, whoever they are, unless they are pretty bad.” She looked incredulous, and then disappointed. For an instant she turned her back on him with resolution. He observed that she squirmed herself into a position of dignified uprightness in her chair. After a brief interval she turned to him with renewed hope. “Maybe you’re prejudiced against ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin’?” she ventured. “Frankly, I am.” “You’re not down on the legitimate, though?” “I like plays--if that’s what you mean.” Her forehead wrinkled. “Certainly that’s what I mean. What did you think I meant?” “Why, you see, I wasn’t quite sure.” She searched his eyes suspiciously; then suddenly she dimpled. “Tell me--are you an actor? Or aren’t you?” “No--assuredly not!” She was genuinely embarrassed. She allowed her face to drop into her hands, and Baron felt from her gesture that she must be blushing though he could see that she was not. After a little she laughed weakly. “How childish of me!” she exclaimed. “I really had no right to make such a mistake. But please tell me how you happen to be up in this box?” “The manager was good enough to direct an usher to bring me here.” “Well, you know, I thought this box was always given to us--to the profession, I mean. I do hope you’ll forgive me.” She seemed prepared to withdraw her interest from him then, as if he no longer concerned her in any way. But Baron was looking at her searchingly, almost rudely. “Are you an--an actress?” he managed to ask. Her manner changed. For the first time Baron detected an affectation. She looked beyond him, out toward the chattering audience, with an absurd assumption of weariness. “I thought everybody knew me,” she said. “I’m Bonnie May. You’ve heard of me, of course?” and she brought her eyes back to his anxiously.