Baron thought he understood that. If “mother” refused to go, she might not be permitted to go herself.
However, he approached his mother on the subject with a certain amount of earnestness. “I’ve had a sort of hand in the play, in a small way,” he explained. “And Baggot is anxious to have us all come.” He couldn’t resist the temptation to add: “He places a high value on the opinion of what he calls nice people. That means us. You can’t seem indifferent to such recognition, can you?”
Mrs. Baron was deaf to the sarcasm. “Isn’t it one of those cheap summer theatres?” she asked.
“Yes, but really I don’t know that it will be very different from the winter performances. Not as an ethical proposition, anyway.”
“I hardly think I’d be interested,” she decided. However, she did not speak with her usual certainty, and she glanced at her son a bit anxiously. If he really wanted her to go....
On a later occasion Baron again touched the subject. He had just got rid of Baggot, who was in an unusually enthusiastic mood.
“Really, mother, I have an idea that play is going to be quite worth while. If you didn’t mind it very much....”
But Mrs. Baron fancied she was being coerced. “No, I think not,” she said, shaking her head.
“And Bonnie May,” added Baron. “Great goodness, how anxious she is to go! I suppose she thinks she can’t go unless you do.”
Mrs. Baron’s eyes flashed. That was it! Bonnie May’s comfort and pleasure—that, and nothing more.