Baron was remembering the actress who had called on Thornburg; the woman who, almost certainly, was she who had taken the child into Thornburg’s theatre. He was recalling his question to the manager, and the latter’s vehement, prompt response.
“You mean,” questioned Mrs. Thornburg, “that you don’t think Bonnie May is really ... that you don’t believe it was her mother who wrote this note?”
“It’s difficult to be quite sure of anything,” said Baron, “but I would stake a great deal on that one thing being true—that it wasn’t Bonnie May’s mother who wrote that anonymous note.”
CHAPTER XVII
“A KIND OF DUEL”
That night in his attic room Baron arrived, by perfectly logical reasoning, at two conclusions, each of which was precisely the opposite of the other.
The first of these conclusions was that he had a perfect right to shape Bonnie May’s future according to his own inclination. The second was that he had no right at all to do such a thing.
He arrived at the first conclusion in this manner:
He had made an honest effort to locate any person or persons having a legal and just claim on the child, and he had failed. If the Thornburgs had any claim upon her, it was not his fault that they had bungled their affairs until they were unwilling to make their claim public.
Therefore he had a right to have and to hold Bonnie May, and to regard her, if not as his own, at least as a permanent member of the household.
His second and contrary opinion began to shape itself when he recalled the picture of Mrs. Thornburg, helpless and despairing, greatly desiring the presence of the child in her own home in order that she might complete a great moral victory over herself.