“I’ll see,” she said. “Please step inside.” She would make him wait in the hall, she decided.
“Tell him, please, that Baggot has called—that I’ve brought the first act of my play.”
“A play! Oh!”
Again she hurried up the stairs; this time with unconcealed eagerness. When she entered Mrs. Baron’s room she hesitated. “If you’ll excuse me—” she faltered. “I’m looking for Mr. Victor.”
Mrs. Baron sat more erect, the open volume in her lap. “Forming a little organization down-stairs?” she asked.
“Some one’s called for Mr. Victor. I wanted to tell him.”
“Very well. He’s in the library.” She nodded toward the adjoining room.
Victor was alone in the library. He was in the attitude of one who is about to write, but he was not writing. He was glowering at the paper before him.
He sprang to his feet eagerly when Bonnie May appeared.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said. “Flora has, too. We meant to come and find you before long and get you away from Mrs. Shepard. We didn’t want to seem too eager, you know. We wanted to wait until the governess——”