Bambi Part 44

"Perfectly."

"I'll mail you a check in the morning. I should say you have been learning things, Jocelyn. That is good stuff."

"I told you I was getting a new point of view."

At the close of the evening the two men parted with a surrept.i.tious feeling that they would have liked each other under any other circ.u.mstances. They promised to meet soon again. As for Jarvis, he felt that a golden egg had been laid for him in the middle of the table on the Astor roof! The one thing that stood out in his mind was the thought that he could go home--home, to see Bambi. The only regret was that Strong had made it possible.

XIX

The day came, in early December, when Bambi put the last word, the last period, to her book. Instead of a moment of high relief and of pride, as she had foreseen it, it was with a sigh of regret that she laid down her pen. She felt as a mother might feel who sends her child out to make its own way when she had put her last, finis.h.i.+ng mother-touch upon his training. There would never be another first book. No matter how crude or how young this firstling might come to seem to her, there would never be such another. No such thrills, no such building as made this first-born dear, could go in another book. Then there was the pleasure in her new bank account, with the sense of freedom it brought. She could indulge herself in pretty things. She could buy little presents for people she loved. Best of all, she laid aside an amount which she called the "Homeseeker's Fund," to be used for that home which she and Jarvis would establish some day. She had won her independence, and it was sweet.

Mr. Strong was attending to the publication of the story in book form.

And it was to be on the Christmas stalls, appearing simultaneously with the last chapters of the magazine. He was already begging her to promise a new serial for the coming year.

It seemed incredible that so much could have happened to her in the ten months that she had been married to Jarvis. Her threatened career, which seemed such a joke to her family, was here; she was well launched upon it, with the two scoffers still in ignorance of the fact. So she mused, as she sat at her desk, the heap of completed last chapters piled before her. Ardelia broke in upon her meditations.

"Mr. Strong in here!"

"Who?"

"Mr. Strong!"

"Mr. Strong! Why, he sent me no word. I didn't expect him!"

"I can't help that. He's here, settin' in the liberry."

"Dear me!" said Bambi. "Say I'll be down at once. Wait! Help me to get into my gray gown before you go."

"You look all right de way you is."

"No, no. This man lives in New York, Ardelia. He's used to real clothes."

"I wish he'd stay in New York."

"What's the matter with Mr. Strong? I thought you liked him!"

"He's gettin' too frequentious round here, to suit me."

"You silly thing, we have business to talk over. Hurry on, now, and say I'll be down in a minute."

Ardelia lumbered out, disapproval in every inch of her back.

Richard Strong turned away from the log fire at the sound of Bambi's footsteps running down the stairs. The soft gray gown clung to her, and floated behind her, its ashen monotone making her face more vivid than ever. Her cheeks were pink, and her eyes looked gray-green in the shadowy room, with the deep, s.h.i.+ning fire of opals. Both hands went out to his impulsive greeting.

"Welcome!" she said, smiling.

"Aren't you surprised?"

"I'm pleased. Why should I be surprised?"

"It is so unheard of, for me to be running out of town on unexpected visits to a lady, that it seems as if everybody must be as surprised as I am."

"The lady was thinking of you when your name was announced, which may account for her nonsurprise."

"Really?" he said so warmly that she blushed a bit.

"Yes, I finished the book to-day. I was thinking it all over--this last year. My new sense of getting somewhere, and of you--the big part you play in it all. Have I ever told you how utterly grateful I am?"

He looked down at her, sunk among the cus.h.i.+ons of the big couch, before replying.

"I think you need not say it," he replied. "I have been so richly rewarded in knowing you."

"Thanks, friend."

"You've been my secret garden this last year."

"Oh, that is nice of you," she interrupted, sensing an undercurrent of feeling. "If I am your secret garden, you're my secret well, because n.o.body knows about us."

"You haven't told them yet?"

"No. When the book comes out I shall give them each a copy, and run and hide while they read it."

"Little girl," he smiled at her, "what do you think brought me down here to-day?"

"No idea."

"Guess."

"Can't. Never guessed anything in my life."

He took a letter from his pocket and handed it to her.

"I am to read this?"

He nodded. She opened it and read:

_"Mr. Richard Strong, New York City._

"My DEAR MR. STRONG: I have read, with very great interest, a serial story, published in your magazine, ent.i.tled 'Francesca.' I feel that there is the making of a delightful comedy in the plot of this novel, and I write to ask you whether it would be possible for me to secure the dramatic rights from the author. As the story is anonymous, I appeal to you to put me in touch with the writer in question. I shall appreciate an immediate reply.

"With thanks to you, in advance, Sincerely,

"CHARLES FROHMAN, "Empire Theatre, New York City."

"Am I dreaming this? Does this mean my book?"