And while he noted one impressive name after another, he was arrested by an altogether amazing sound down in his mother’s sitting-room. Mrs. Baron had been giving Bonnie May her music lesson, and now, the lesson done, she was singing for her pupil. The thin old voice faltered on some of the notes, but the words came clear enough: “... She’s all the world to me, And for bonnie Annie Laurie....” Baron smiled and shook his head. “What was it,” he mused, “about a plan of reconstruction?” Then he went down-stairs to telephone his acceptance to the man on the _Times_. Baggot he completely forgot. * * * * * When Baron entered the dining-room at dinner-time that evening Flora looked at him with mild surprise. “All dressed up and nowhere to go,” said she. “But there is somewhere to go. I’m going to write up the Fairyland opening. Would you like to go with me?” “No, thank you.” It was clearly understood that Baron’s question had been put in a spirit of jest. It was understood that Flora and her kind did not go to the Fairylands--and their kind. But Bonnie May failed to grasp the situation. “What’s Fairyland?” she inquired. “A large enclosure occupied entirely by mad people, and with a theatre in one corner.” She ignored the reference to mad people. “Oh! a theatre. What are they playing?” “A piece called ‘The Second Mrs. Tanqueray,’” said Baron. She sat up, swiftly erect, and clasped her hands. “How fine!” was her comment. “Do you think you could take me?” “I should say not!” Baron responded without thinking. His unthinking refusal was a result of the habitual Baron attitude. But as he regarded her thoughtfully, and noted the puzzled inquiry in her glance, he couldn’t quite understand why he had been so emphatic, so confident of being right. “It’s not a play a little girl would care for,” he added, now on the defensive. She smiled indulgently. “The idea! I mean, _anybody_ would be interested in it.” “What’s it about?” challenged Baron. “A lady who died because they were unkind to her--even the people who loved her. It’s about a lot of snobs and a--a human being.” She spoke with feeling. She sensed the fact that again she was being required to stand alone. Baron frowned. “How in the world did you find out anything about a play like that?” “Miss Barry did it in Denver one time--when she was with a stock company. I can’t understand why you speak as if there was something wrong about it. I think it’s great. You can cry like anything when you see it--because it seems as if what happens couldn’t have been helped. It isn’t one of those things that’s been screwed around to make everybody feel as if they’d been eating caramels. You remember it!” Baron, Sr., engaged in carving the roast, twinkled somewhat darkly. “You might get her to shape your criticism for you, Victor,” he suggested. “I don’t know if the editor would stand for ‘screwed around,’” said Baron, “but upon my soul, I think she’s right.”