“You’ll not take offense, Thornburg. You see, I have certain scruples.” His mind had gone back over several episodes, and his analysis of them pointed unyieldingly to one plain duty. “I want to ask you just one question, and you’re to answer it in just a word: Yes, or No.” “Well, what’s the question?” Baron looked steadily into the other’s eyes. “The woman who was here in your office when I came in; who stood with you in the theatre that day I took Bonnie May home----” “Well?” “Is she the--the former Mrs. Thornburg? Is she the mother of Bonnie May?” And Thornburg’s answer came resolutely, promptly, in the tone of a man who tells the truth: “No!” CHAPTER XIV MR. ADDIS RECEIVES SUPPORT Unconscious that destiny had its eye upon her, Bonnie May found increasing comfort and contentment in her new home. As a result of the delighted labors of Flora, her wardrobe had become more complete than it had ever been before. She developed such pride in the possession of many garments that Flora forgot her own needs and gave disproportionately of her time and means to the “outfitting” of the guest whose needs were so urgent. As if for her special entertainment, unusual things happened. For example, Mr. Addis called again. And a call from Mr. Addis became, in Bonnie May’s drama-loving mind, the most delicious form of intrigue. Mrs. Baron became indignant at the very mention of Mr. Addis’s name. Flora became quietly wistful. Kneeling on a low Brussels hassock at the front window of the upper floor one night, Bonnie May saw the figure of a man extricate itself from the passing current of humanity and make resolutely for the Baron door. She swiftly placed her finger on her lip and reflected. “Mr. Addis!” she exclaimed in a whisper. She made a supreme effort to leave the room without appearing to have any definite purpose. Once out of sight in the hall, however, she rushed down the stairs, just in time to open the door before the bell was rung. She was in an elated state. She had the lower floor to herself, save for Mrs. Shepard, who would be sure not to interrupt. “Oh! Mr. Addis!” she whispered eagerly. She promptly ushered him into the drawing-room and quietly closed the door with an effect of being absent-minded, rather than designing. “Please sit down,” she said. She had the light burning immediately. She drew a chair forward and stood beside it a moment, and under her inspection Mr. Addis’s cheeks took on even a deeper rosiness and his brown eyes twinkled. “How is--my confederate?” he asked. She was delighted. “That’s it,” she said. “That’s what I want to be. Your confederate. May I?” “You may,” he said with emphasis. She had sat down. “You know,” she confided, “I’m strong for what you call heart interest. If you haven’t got anything but manners in your show you soon find that people are patronizing the burlesque houses. Don’t you think I’m right?”