Bonnie May shuddered. “Please don’t!” she implored. “You must keep your mind off of it. Your suburban-home idea is nice. But put a soft pedal on the chickens. Think of Chinese lanterns. Lawn-parties, I mean. Talk about _al fresco_ performances of Shakespeare and house-parties. Don’t let anybody think about how you earn money. Let them believe you’ve just got it. Really, it’s not a very nice subject. If the word ‘money’ ever comes up, just yawn and say something about not being able to decide whether you want to spend the summer in the Yellowstone or in the Thousand Islands.” Mr. Addis shook his head. “No,” he said. “I couldn’t put on airs. You see, I think Miss Flora thinks enough of me as I am, and I couldn’t be something different just to please her mother.” “Had you thought of the old-fashioned way--of running away?” Mr. Addis became quite serious. “Miss Flora’s not that kind,” he said promptly. “No, I’ve got to fight it out with--with the mother.” * * * * * At this juncture Mrs. Baron, in her sitting-room, closed the anthology with the flexible leather covers and inclined her head slightly. “Flora,” she called, “I’m sure I hear voices down-stairs. Will you go see?” Flora appeared in the doorway. “I can’t hear anything,” she said. “Where’s Bonnie May? I thought she was here with you.” “I thought she was here, too, until just now. She may be ‘receiving’ to-night. Of course, she wouldn’t think it necessary to take us into her confidence.” Flora sighed softly. “I really don’t hear anybody,” she said. “I expect she’s gone up to Victor’s room.” A smile came to her lips as she went down-stairs. Her mother’s petulance had been of the sort she might be expected to manifest if her own child had irritated her. She was startled when she opened the drawing-room door and confronted Mr. Addis and Bonnie May. “Enter the heroine!” was the child’s greeting. “Exit the crowd.” She would have left the room, then, but Miss Baron stood in her way. [Illustration: “Enter the heroine!” was the child’s greeting.] “Bonnie May!” she cried with gentle severity, “I’m afraid you’re going to get us all into trouble one of these days.” She turned with a flush to Mr. Addis. “Good evening,” she said, with reproach in her tone. She added, with gentle mischief: “You seem to have gained an ally.” Mr. Addis was on his feet, shaking her hand vigorously. “I have,” he confessed. “But please don’t blame her. I think I haven’t set her a very good example.” Flora turned to the child with a kind of forlorn fondness and made a characteristic movement, as if she were pushing escaping strands of hair into place. She appeared not to observe that Mr. Addis was still holding her hand. Then with evident decision she moved away from him. “It won’t do,” she declared, meeting the visitor’s eyes. “It’s not the right way to do things.” “I’ve been trying to think of the right way,” replied Mr. Addis with dignity.