“Oh, Mrs. Thornburg!” he began. Then, after a pause, “Yes, that was the understanding. There wasn’t any definite time set--” A pause. “Yes, I know he is. I’m going out there, too.” Another pause, and then, “Well, I suppose it might be managed. I’ll ask _her_. I promised--we both agreed--that she should do as she pleased----” He turned back to the table with a brave attempt at briskness. But the inquiring glances bent upon him were disconcerting. Mrs. Baron went and unceremoniously hung up the receiver. She had, it seemed, understood quite accurately what the person at the other end of the phone had been saying. “It’s an invitation for Bonnie May,” said Baron, trying to shake off the feeling that he was a guilty wretch. “Mrs. Thornburg particularly wishes her to come over this evening, because she’s to be alone.” “Well!” was Mrs. Baron’s comment. “Why should she go over there, I’d like to know?” Baron hesitated. “The fact is, I entered into a sort of compact with Thornburg----” “Yes, I gathered something of the kind,” said Mrs. Baron angrily. “I suppose I have nothing to say, one way or another.” “It was when you were still of the belief that Bonnie May couldn’t be--quite comfortable with us, and Thornburg.... I don’t think I was wholly unjustified in what I promised. You remember you said that as soon as she could be got ready--” He was floundering painfully now, with the eyes of everybody in the room turned upon him accusingly. “Mrs. Thornburg says she has a room ready, specially fitted up for her, and she only asks that she may spend the night----” Mrs. Baron had a vision of that room that had been “specially fitted up” for the child, who was now away somewhere grieving because she had been refused a greatly coveted privilege. No doubt the Thornburg woman had spent whole weeks and no end of money in fitting up that room. And she thought with a sinking heart of the gloom of the mansion, and its threadbare aspects. “Victor Baron,” she cried angrily, “I wish you would tell me just what agreement you made with that theatre man. I want to know where I stand.” And Baron explained--or, rather, he failed to explain very clearly. The idea of “a sort of duel” not only failed to delight his auditors as it had delighted Thornburg, but they looked as if they considered it a type of criminal and unseemly folly. “You see,” persisted Baron, “the Thornburgs are rich people. They may go so far as to adopt Bonnie May, if the thing works out satisfactorily. I know how that sounds, but we’ve got to think of--of _her_ interests, as well as our own whims.” “Whims!” This, witheringly, from Mrs. Baron. “I think it was mostly whims at first, anyway.” “You’re speaking for yourself--not for me.” “And the Thornburgs are not bad people. I don’t see why they shouldn’t make her quite happy. I’m not at all sure we could do as much, if we undertook to keep her here constantly.”