Flora’s color came and went during this patient, rather labored recital. The utterly prosaic course events were taking, as a result of her mother’s prejudice, impressed her strangely. She could have laughed--but also she could have wept. Mrs. Baron had refused to meet Mr. Addis’s eyes while he spoke, but now she compelled herself to regard him. Her eyebrows were at a most formidable elevation. “I have tried to impress you with the fact, Mr. Addis,” she said, “that I do not consider you a suitable person to--to become associated in any way with my family.” Mr. Addis flushed. “The loss would be mine, ma’am, if I were not permitted to be friendly toward all the members of your family, but, if you will pardon me, I can very easily console myself for the loss, if I have Miss Flora.” These words Mr. Addis spoke with unmistakable emphasis. “Would you mind,” said Mrs. Baron, speaking very evenly, “would you mind not speaking quite so loudly?” She succeeded in conveying the idea that he had violated all the laws of good taste, and that she had borne with him like a martyr. Mr. Addis looked at her questioningly. When he spoke again his voice was low, his words were measured. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I always tell my young men not to become too spirited when they’re in earnest. If I have offended in that way I ask you to excuse me.” There was a lump in Flora’s throat. He had accepted a rebuke which seemed to her needless, and even cruel, with just the kind of dignity which her mother should have prized above all other qualities. And he seemed so splendidly simple and earnest and strong. She came forward with an obvious effort to speak and move easily. “Mother,” she said, “Mr. Addis is only asking to be received here as a visitor. He has paid us the compliment of wishing to become better acquainted with us. Can you think of any good reason why he shouldn’t?--because, really, I can’t think of any at all.” “Oh, you can’t!” responded her mother. “Then I’ll make it plain to you. For the present I must ask you to go up-stairs and let me have a word with this--this gentleman, who appears to have his own method of getting into houses where he isn’t invited.” Flora was too deeply wounded to respond to this. Shame and grief were in her glance. “Good night,” she said. She went out of the room without glancing back. But there was something strangely eloquent in her exit. She seemed to take with her beauty and light, and to leave the room a prey to all manner of unloveliness. Something in her bearing had dismayed Mrs. Baron. Something, too, in the cold, steady glance of Mr. Addis dismayed her. She turned nervously toward the hall. “Flora!” she called. “Flora!” And she followed her daughter up the broad stairway. They had all forgotten Bonnie May. When she had summoned Mrs. Baron, at the behest of Flora and Mr. Addis, she had returned, quietly and unobserved, and had taken her place inconspicuously in a far corner of the room.