Kneeling on a low Brussels hassock at the front window of the upper floor one night, Bonnie May saw the figure of a man extricate itself from the passing current of humanity and make resolutely for the Baron door.
She swiftly placed her finger on her lip and reflected. “Mr. Addis!” she exclaimed in a whisper.
She made a supreme effort to leave the room without appearing to have any definite purpose. Once out of sight in the hall, however, she rushed down the stairs, just in time to open the door before the bell was rung. She was in an elated state. She had the lower floor to herself, save for Mrs. Shepard, who would be sure not to interrupt.
“Oh! Mr. Addis!” she whispered eagerly. She promptly ushered him into the drawing-room and quietly closed the door with an effect of being absent-minded, rather than designing. “Please sit down,” she said. She had the light burning immediately.
She drew a chair forward and stood beside it a moment, and under her inspection Mr. Addis’s cheeks took on even a deeper rosiness and his brown eyes twinkled.
“How is—my confederate?” he asked.
She was delighted. “That’s it,” she said. “That’s what I want to be. Your confederate. May I?”
“You may,” he said with emphasis.
She had sat down. “You know,” she confided, “I’m strong for what you call heart interest. If you haven’t got anything but manners in your show you soon find that people are patronizing the burlesque houses. Don’t you think I’m right?”
Mr. Addis did not make a very pertinent response to this. “You’re a queer little customer,” he said.