Bambi
matrimonial experiment. Then he would let her divorce him, and he would
take himself out of her life.
She was in the library when he went in. She caught sight of his face,
and exclaimed:
"Jarvis, my dear, how tired you look!"
He started to go, but she detained him.
"Is anything the matter, Jarvis?"
"No, what should be the matter?"
"I don't know, but if there is anything you want to talk out with me,
let's have it now. We can't afford to have any misunderstandings
between us."
"There is nothing," he said, and left the room.
That night, after dinner, he sat late in his study, writing. Two days
later the result of the evening's work came to Bambi:
"DEAR AUTHOR LADY: Some days ago I sent you my new address, so that you
need not send letters to the theatre, but so far I have not heard from
you. To-night, for some reason, I feel moved to write to you as I would
wish to talk to you were you near me.
"I say for some reason, and yet I know the reason. It is because of your
human understanding of the things that make men glad or sad. I am
beginning to know that only through the ache of experience can we come
to understand each other. Surely there must be something of sadness back
of your life, Lady of Mystery, to give you this power.
"To-day I have fought out a bitter fight with myself, and I feel the
loneliness that comes in a crisis, when each man of us must stand or
fall, alone.
"The play goes ahead rapidly. As I told you, Mrs. Jocelyn and I have
great satisfaction in our work on it. I am determined to wring success
from it. Both for your sake and for mine, I must!
"Is this personal letter distasteful to you? Do I depend too much upon
your gracious understanding? If I do, say so, and I will not
offend again.
"Faithfully,
"JARVIS JOCELYN."
Bambi read this letter over and over again, behind the locked door of
her bedroom. What did it all mean? What was the bitter fight that drove
Jarvis to this other woman for solace? How far did she dare draw him out
on it, without offending her own sense of fitness? Had this innocent
plot of hers, to startle him into amazed admiration, led them both into
a labyrinth of misunderstanding?
She answered Jarvis's letter and sent it to the theatre, asking them to
forward it:
"DEAR MR. JOCELYN: Your letter touched me very much in its appeal for my
sympathy and understanding. I am regretful that sorrow has found you
out. I think of you always as young and strong and happy, with a young
wife, and the world before you. I hate to have you spoil my picture.
"I repeat my satisfaction that you and your wife enjoy your work on
'Francesca.' I found such happiness myself in doing her, that I like to
think we share the pleasure between us, we three.
"Is it your own ambition that drives you so that you say 'I must,' in
regard to success? Sometimes, if we set our hearts too much on a thing,
our very determination thwarts us. Is it not so? Perhaps it is for the
sake of some one else that you are so eager for accomplishment. I feel
that it is to come to you in this play, and I am glad.
"Be of good cheer, Comrade. Even the memory of bitter fights grows dim.
I will not think of you as daunted by anything life can offer. No, nor
death. Why have I this confidence in you, I wonder?
"In all friendliness,
"THE LADY OF MYSTERY."
The day this letter came to Jarvis marked a change in him to Bambi's
watchful eye. He threw himself with renewed ardour into the work. For
the first time in many days they walked together, and he seemed more
himself than he had been since Strong's unfortunate visit. Was it the
effect of this letter? He was beginning to be easily influenced by this
supposed stranger! The idea was too fantastic.
"What kind of a woman do you imagine the author of 'Francesca' to be?"
she asked him as they trudged along a wintry road. He started a little,
she thought.
"I scarcely know," he evaded. "I always think of her as tall and thin
and frail, with a rather sad face, white, with humorous gray eyes, and a
sensitive mouth."
"I always think of her as little and fat and cuddly."
"Oh, not cuddly!" he protested.
She laughed.
"Any news from her lately?"
"Yes. I had a letter to-day."
"Did you ask if she was coming to rehearsals?"
"Not yet."
"Haven't you any curiosity about her?"
"In a way, yes. But I respect her desire in the matter."
"I don't. If I could get it out of Richard Strong who she is, I'd go
look her up in a minute."
"Have you tried?" eagerly.
"He won't tell. He's the King of Clams."
"He has no right to tell."
"It is very smart of her to work up all this mystery about herself. No
doubt she is a wobbly old fatty, instead of the Beatrice you think her."
He made no answer, but she saw by his face how he resented it.
A wicked design grew in Bambi's mind. She would make Jarvis Jocelyn fall
so desperately and hopelessly in love with this dream-woman of his that
she would be revenged upon him for the way he had shut her out since
Strong's visit. It never once occurred to her that it was a hurt she had
given him which drove him to this other woman. But the something which
he had offered her the night of his return he had deliberately
withdrawn, before she had a chance to accept or refuse it. Well, here
was a chance to punish him and she would take it.
XXIII
From the day of her resolve absolute impersonality characterized their
relations during Work hours. Sometimes they walked together; sometimes
Bambi went alone or made visits to her friends. Jarvis felt more and
more her withdrawal from him. He attributed it to her increased
affection for Strong and a consequent abhorrence of her
husband's presence.
One morning she announced that she was going to New York for the day.
"But we were to work on the big climax to-day," Jarvis protested.
"You work at it. You can do it without me," she said, airily.
"You are as tired of the play as you are of me," said Jarvis earnestly.
"Absurd. I am much interested in the play and I am not tired of you."
"Shall you see Strong?"
"Yes. I shall spend part of the day with him. Did you wish to send him a
message?"
"It wouldn't be fit for you to carry," he answered, fiercely.
"Richard is not your favourite companion, is he?" she tantalized.
"He is not!"
"Sorry. I am very fond of him."
"That does not need saying."
"I have never tried to disguise it."
"No, I should say you were both frank about it."
"Why shouldn't we be, Jarvis?" said Bambi with irritation.
"Exactly. Why shouldn't you be?"
"You naturally cannot expect to regulate or choose my friends."
"I expect nothing."
"Then I would be obliged to you if you made your dislike of my friend a
trifle less conspicuous."
"If you will let me know when he is expected, I will always go
elsewhere."
It was the first hint of disagreement that had ever occurred between
them, and Bambi took the train to New York with a disagreeable taste in
her mouth. She was going for a conference with Strong about the book,
which had got a splendid start in the holiday sales. He had some plans
to feature it in various conspicuous ways, so that it might
advertise the play.
Arrived in Grand Central Station, she wired Jarvis, "Sorry was horrid
about Strong," just to make her self-esteem less flat. Then she went to
Strong's office. He greeted her in his cordial way, only his eyes
admitting his joy at sight of her.
"It is good to see you," he said.
"You won't like me. I'm utterly detestable to-day. I was nasty to Jarvis,
and cross with Ardelia."
"I can't imagine you either nasty or cross."
"Me? Oh, I scratch and spit and bite!"
"You are the most human person I ever encountered," he laughed.
"Be nice to me, and I may cheer up."
"I shall try. I have news about the sale of the book that ought to cheer
a tombstone. I think we have a best-seller on our hands."
"I'm not a bit ashamed of it."
"Why should you be?"
"Aren't you a literary pariah, if you're a best-seller?"
He laughed.
"How is the play coming on?"
"Pretty well, I think. We're up to the climax of the second act. Jarvis
is working on it to-day."
"Still no suspicion of you?"
"Not a grain. I think he's falling in love with the author of
'Francesca,' though."
"How?"
"Through their letters."
"You certainly have a talent for comedy," he laughed, and added,
gravely, "I thought Jocelyn had always been in love with the author of
'Francesca'?"
"No-o."
"I have always known that the author of 'Francesca' cared about Jarvis."
"You must have dreamed that, Richard. Poor old Jarvis! Sometimes I think
I will confess. Maybe I have no right to make game of him this way."
"Doesn't he suspect your style in your letters? I would know a letter
from you, no matter what the circumstances."
"Oh, I don't write like myself. I write like an author. I found out what
he thought she looked like, and I write tall, pale, sensitive-mouthed
kind of letters, with a hint of sadness."
"You imp!" he laughed.
"Improves my style. You ought to be glad. Let's hear about the plans for
the book."
They settled down to discussing advertising plans, which kept them busy
until late afternoon. When the last detail was settled, Bambi rose
with a sigh.
"Whew! That was a long siege. Like Corp in 'Sentimental Tommy,' it makes
me sweat to think."
"I should not have kept it up so long. I forget you are not used to this
drill," he apologized.
"I think I'll live. Remember the first time I came to see you?"
"Perfectly."
"Wasn't I scared?"
"Were you?"
"You were so kind and fatherly."
"Fatherly?" he said.
"What lots of things have happened to me since then," she mused.
"And to me," said Richard, under his breath.
"Heigho! Life is a bubble."
"You'll feel better after a cup of tea. Where shall we go?"
"Let's walk up to the Plaza."
"Done," said he, closing his desk.
It was a cold, crisp day, which stimulated the blood like a cocktail.
Bambi breathed deep as she tried to fall in step with her companion.
"I can't keep step with you. I'm too little and my skirt's too tight."
"I'll keep step with you, my lady."
"Mercy, don't try. Jarvis says I hop along like a grasshopper."
"I resent that. Your free, swaying walk is one of your charms. You
always make me think of a wind-blown flower."
She looked up at him, radiantly.
"Richard, you say the charmingest things!"
"Francesca, you do inspire them."
"I'm a vain little peacock, and Jarvis never notices how I look."
"Too bad to mate a peacock and an owl."
A brilliant sunset bathed the avenue in a red, gold light. The steady
procession of motors, taxis, and hansom cabs made its slow way uptown.
The shop windows blazed in their most seductive moments. The sidewalks
were crowded with smart men; fashionable women swathed in magnificent
furs; slim, little pink-cheeked girls. All of them made their way up the
broad highroad toward home or tea, as the case might be.
"Oh, you blessed flesh-pots, how I adore you!"
"Referring to the men or the women?"
"Naughty Richard! I mean all the luxury and sensuousness which New York
represents."
"You hungry little beggar, how you do eat up your sensations!"
"They give me indigestion sometimes."
The foyer of the Plaza was like a reception. The tea-room was a-clatter
and a-clack with tongues.
"Like the clatter of sleek little squirrels," said Bambi, as she
followed the head-waiter to their table.
Her comments on people about them, the nicknames she donated to them,
convulsed Strong. He would never again see that pompous head-waiter