Now she came forward, a light of eagerness in her eyes. “That was a great speech you made,” she said. Mr. Addis, gazing toward the empty staircase, seemed unaware of her presence. “It was good stuff,” she added, and then Mr. Addis turned to her with an almost unseeing glance. “I think it’s time for you to go off-stage,” she added nervously. “But I’ll bet you one thing. When the big climax comes, you and Flora will be standing in the middle of the stage, close together, and the rest will be grouped about just to fill out the picture.” She let him out at the door. She did not seem to be at all disturbed because he seemed scarcely conscious of her presence. CHAPTER XV A QUESTION OF RECONSTRUCTION In keeping with the Baron manner, no mention of Mr. Addis’s name was made openly in the mansion the next morning. The normal atmosphere was changed only by a more pronounced reticence, which doubtless hid varying degrees of sullenness or resentment. But there was no lack of politeness. On the contrary, there was an excess of it. Of course it was realized that Mr. Addis had not been finally disposed of. Mrs. Baron’s idea was to await developments--and so was Flora’s. Only Bonnie May violated the well-established tradition of the household. Early in the morning she encountered Flora, and made occasion to engage her in a brief conversation. Flora was planning to go out with the McKelvey girls after breakfast, and she held in her hands the green-and-silver tailored skirt when Bonnie May came upon her. She was regarding it with the care and heartache of a young woman in love with pretty things who has very few of them, and she did not seem quite responsive when the child began a somewhat extraordinary commentary. She scarcely heeded Bonnie May’s introductory words, but she _did_ begin to pay attention when she heard this: “Of course I know I’ve got nothing to do with the giving out of parts, but if I had, he’d strike me just right for the rôle of the husband.” Miss Baron flushed. She knew just whom the child meant, but she felt that she must pretend to some measure of doubt. “What in the world are you talking about?” she asked. Her faint smile robbed her words of sharpness. “I think he’s just the kind that would look well to the people in the gallery, and to the people down in the parquet, too. Mr. Addis.” Flora sat down in an aimless fashion, holding the green-and-silver skirt across her knees. “Do you think,” she asked meditatively, “that he would look well--anywhere?” “Do you mean, do I think he would look--ridic’lous, anywhere?” Miss Baron leaned back and looked with a sort of mournful joyousness at the ceiling. “You do say such amazing things!” she declared. “To use your word, You don’t think he would look ridiculous anywhere?” “Never in the world!” was the emphatic response. “But you know he isn’t at all like--well, like the leading men in plays, for example.” “You mean what they call matinée idols?”