“Well, don’t you think you could take me, then?” asked Bonnie May. “It really isn’t possible. You see, I must hurry down to the office right after the performance--to write it, you know.” The child leaned toward Mrs. Baron, a very real shadow trembling on her face. “Couldn’t you go, so you could bring me home?” she asked. Her voice was nearly inaudible, through fear of disappointment. “I haven’t been for such a long time. You can’t think how dearly I’d like to go.” Mrs. Baron was provoked by the child’s intense earnestness. “Oh--impossible!” she said. She noted the look of despair in Bonnie May’s eyes. “There wouldn’t be enough tickets, anyway,” she added weakly. Baron leaned back in his chair as if he had lost his appetite. What was the matter with them all, anyway, that they were afraid to get down into the crowd once in a while? Plenty of really nice people went to all manner of places--in search of novelty, for diversion, in order to get into touch with mankind. He had spoken of mad persons out at Fairyland. That was merely a silly cynicism. They weren’t any madder than other people. Surely they were saner, since they were willing to enjoy the best that life afforded. “I’ve got plenty of seats, mother,” he said. He returned to his dinner, smiling somewhat maliciously. “Victor!” exclaimed Mrs. Baron. She flushed angrily. “You know very well I won’t go to such a place.” Bonnie May’s voice trailed away to a whisper--almost to a whimper. “Nice people can go anywhere they want to go,” she said. “It’s only silly people who need to be afraid, because they don’t know how to think for themselves.” She tried very hard to eat her dinner then, and to say no more. But presently she said, faintly, “Please excuse me,” and ran, weeping in true childish abandon, from the room. It was the first time she had really lost control over herself! Baron, Sr., was the first to speak. “She’s only a child,” he said, as if anything more would be superfluous. An ensuing silence was broken by the sound of the telephone-bell, and Mrs. Baron was glad to respond, as a means of putting the finishing touches to an uncomfortable episode. But the telephone seemed only to create other difficulties. The group at the table were quite at a loss to know what could have brought such an extraordinary sharpness into Mrs. Baron’s voice. She was soon grasping the receiver angrily, and they heard her saying, with uncomfortable intervals between her words and phrases: “To-night? Bonnie May? Mr. Baron? Why should he do anything of the kind? No, I don’t understand at all. No....” She turned around in quick displeasure. “Victor,” she appealed, “will you see what they want?” And Baron hurried to the phone and took up the broken conversation.