“A little girl we are sheltering to-night,” was Mrs. Baron’s explanation to her husband, who still regarded the child at the opposite end of the table.
“I am Bonnie May,” amended the child. “I am very glad to meet you, I’m sure.” She smiled graciously and nodded with such dignity as was compatible with a rather difficult position. She was occupying an “adult” chair, and little more than her head and shoulders was visible. She had briefly yet firmly discouraged the suggestion that she sit on a book.
“A—protégée of Victor’s,” added Mrs. Baron, with the amiable malice which the family easily recognized.
But Flora noted the word “protégée” and smiled. To her mind it suggested permanency.
“A very fine little girl, I’m sure,” was Mr. Baron’s comment. He was critically looking at the fowl which Mrs. Shepard, housekeeper and woman of all work, had placed before him. His entire attention was immediately monopolized by the carving implements. He appeared to forget the child’s presence.
This fact is set down as a significant one, because Flora and Baron, Jr., were both keenly and frankly interested in his impression. If he didn’t mind having her about, another point in her favor would have been gained. Mrs. Baron, too, was covertly interested in his attitude. She was not quite sure whether she wished him to confirm her fears or to share her son’s and daughter’s faith in the unexpected guest.
Thereafter the meal progressed somewhat silently. Every individual in the group was alertly awaiting developments.
“Children always like the drumstick,” declared Mr. Baron genially, looking at Bonnie May.
“Yes, I believe so,” admitted the guest politely. She added casually: “I usually prefer the wing.”
Mr. Baron rested the carving knife and fork on his plate and scrutinized the speaker sharply. The child was opening her napkin with a kind of elegant deliberation.