“First and only Mrs. Willard,” Papa corrected. Having succeeded in making Bonnie dab at her eyes with a handkerchief, he seemed cheered.

“I hear you’re going steady with every fellow on the Big Four,” he said, smiling. “Got to have your good time, I guess, haven’t you, Bonnie?”

“I don’t like to sit around being lonesome for anybody,” Bonnie said, chin now going in air. “Speaking of paint, I don’t lay it on the way certain Lesterville women do, folks you seem to think are all right or you wouldn’t be chasing them, from stories I hear.”

Papa laughed amiably.

“I’m not chasing anybody,” Papa said. “If I was chasing anybody it wouldn’t be somebody that got herself talked about in every saloon from here to Cincinnati.”

“I don’t know who you have reference to, Mr. Willard,” Bonnie said, voice trembling.

“Getting engaged to three fellows at once, dating up a dozen others on the side,” Papa said. “Not that it’s anything to me. I just hate to see a nice girl make herself look cheap.”

“I can’t help who says they’re engaged to who,” Bonnie said. “Personally, I don’t intend to get married, ever. Not on a bet.”

“That’s fine,” Papa said. “Anybody that gets herself talked about can’t expect a decent man to marry them.”

“A decent man doesn’t hang around those girls in Stein’s Cafe,” Bonnie said. She was trying not to cry. “A decent man doesn’t get a girl started caring for him, then act huffy when she shows a little affection. If he acted a little nicer, maybe she wouldn’t go round trying to have what little pleasure she can.”

“Staying all night at Cedar Point,” Papa said, musingly. “A fine thing.”

Bonnie burst into tears.

“If you knew so much you could have stopped me, Harry Willard,” she sobbed. “What have you got against me, anyway? What have I done except be a friend?”

Papa was at a loss over this, and looked scowlingly at the floor.

“It’s your coming over here to criticize,” he said. “All I get everywhere I go since Daisy died is criticism. By God, it’s more than a man can stand, working night and day, doing his best, taking care of his family all alone, friendless—”

“Ed Hartwell is over at Mabel’s,” Bonnie said. “They’re your friends, aren’t they? To tell the truth, I was on my way there this minute.”

She began pinning on her hat, her lips still quivering.

Papa said nothing and at the door she turned.

“Any message for Ed?” Bonnie asked. “Maybe you might drop around. Far be it from me to suggest.”

“Couldn’t do it,” Papa said.

The girls watched Bonnie leave, resignedly. No picture show, no streetcar ride, nobody ever kept promises, not even Bonnie. And Papa had been cross with her, so perhaps she’d never come again. He didn’t even say goodbye to Bonnie when she went, but after a little while he picked up his hat and left. He didn’t come back that night, nor was he back the next morning when Aunt Lois marvellously appeared, just as Lena had begged.