“That,” declared Thornburg with enthusiasm, “is what I call the proposition of a first-class sport.” He extended his hand to Baron. “You stick to your part of the bargain and I’ll play fair to the letter.” He would have shown Baron out of the office, then. He had a taste for suitable climaxes, too. But Baron lingered, chiefly because he didn’t like the prospect of an almost mischievous conflict which the manager seemed to welcome and to anticipate. “She can be loyal to us all,” he said, “if she’s encouraged in being.” At the sound of his own words he fell to thinking. No, she wouldn’t need to be encouraged. She would be loyal without that. There was nothing to fear on that score at all. He looked up rather whimsically. “Well, I’ll tell her,” he said. “You’ll tell her----” “That she has been invited to visit Mr. and Mrs. Thornburg, and make herself quite at home.” CHAPTER XVIII MRS. BARON TAKES UP THE GAUNTLET Having decided upon what he conceived to be an admirable plan of action, Baron was unwilling to believe that he ought to be in any hurry to execute his plan. For the time being Bonnie May was getting along very well indeed. In fact, Baron made a point of looking into this matter with a good deal of thoroughness, from a somewhat new angle, and he was greatly pleased by what he discovered. Little by little the child had become habituated to the home atmosphere. This, of course, was due largely to the fact that the other members of the family had become habituated to having her about. They no longer felt constrained to utter pleasant nothings, or to hold their tongues, because of her presence. When they forgot her “strangeness,” she ceased to be strange. She obediently and even intelligently attended when Mrs. Baron gave her her lesson on the piano. “Though I think,” she confided to Baron on one occasion, “I could get hold of the high places without going through all the funny business she seems to regard so highly.” Baron spoke in defense of the “funny business,” and presently she agreed with him. The guest’s wardrobe had been made gloriously complete, and in this relationship another pleasant development was to be noted. Bonnie May had been painfully accustomed to the use of trunks. Now she made the acquaintance of bureau drawers, and her delight was unbounded. She spent hours in arranging her things. She won Flora’s genuine applause by her skill and taste in this matter. Flora bought her a hat. She looked at it in a queerly detached manner for an instant. “Oh, a hat,” she commented. She might have been repeating a word spoken by a travel-lecturer, describing some interesting place which did not seem to concern her. It appeared that she never had owned a hat. She put it on before the glass. “Oh!” she cried. She thrust impulsive arms about Flora’s neck and hugged her.