Bambi Part 53

"Don't you expect to see her when the play is finished?"

"She says she wishes me not to know her."

"But she will have to come to rehearsals?"

"I must ask her about that. Maybe she will come, then."

"You write to her?"

"Oh, yes. I have to keep her in touch with my progress."

"I thought you told her to keep out."

"I did. But she has been so agreeable about it that I decided to keep her posted as I went along."

Bambi rose.

"I've no doubt she is very fascinating," she said, coldly.

"You don't object to my interest in her?"

"Object? My dear Jarvis, you may be interested in all the women in creation without any objection from me!"

"And you have the same freedom?"

"Naturally. Now let's get to work. I was surprised at what you said about the young musician in the book. I thought he was so real."

"Strange. That is what the author said, that it was a close portrait of a near friend."

"What is it, about him, that you do not like?"

"Oh, I like him, in a way. But these reformers, idealists, thinking they can dream the world into Arcadia!"

Bambi's clear laugh startled him.

"What amuses you so?" he asked, shortly.

"I suppose I rather like the idealist type."

He looked at her closely.

"Good heavens, you don't think I'm like that, do you?"

"A little," she admitted.

"If I thought that I was that particular brand of idiot I'd learn bookkeeping and be a clerk," was the reply.

"Maybe it isn't you--maybe it is just _man_ I recognize."

"You can see how terribly clever the woman is--to set each of us accusing the other."

"She is just a student of types, that's all," Bambi disparaged the lady.

So they began their co-partners.h.i.+p. The shyness, the appeal, the new self-conscious element Bambi had sensed in Jarvis gave way to the old mental relations.h.i.+p as fellow workman. They had regular office hours, as they called it. They experimented to see whether they obtained the best results, when they each worked at a scene alone and went over it together for the final polis.h.i.+ng; or when they actually worked on it in unison. Four hours in the morning they laboured, took an hour of recess after lunch, then two hours more, followed by a tramp off into the country, talking play, play, play.

These were days of keen delight to them both. They worked together so smoothly and so well. Jarvis's high-handed superiority had given way to a well-grounded respect for Bambi's quick apprehension of a false note, an unnatural line, or a bungled climax.

The first interruption came with the advent of Richard Strong to spend the weekend, and Jarvis made no comment when Bambi announced his coming and declared Sat.u.r.day a holiday. He even agreed to meet their guest at the station. The two men came back together in amicable converse.

"I am so glad you could come, Richard," Bambi greeted him, in her eager way.

Jarvis started at the Christian name, and flushed angrily at Strong's reply.

"Happy New Year, Francesca!"

Richard and Francesca--so they had gone as far as that on the road to intimacy was Jarvis's hurt comment to himself.

After that he watched Strong every minute for signs of special devotion, and before the day was over he had satisfied himself that these two cared deeply for each other. The way Strong's eyes followed her every movement, the way he antic.i.p.ated her wants, understood her before she spoke--they were all d.a.m.ning evidences of the situation. That Bambi showed herself grateful, as vividly as she did everything else, entirely escaped Jarvis. She loved him, that was the truth, and he alone stood between her and happiness.

The two days dragged by, in torment, for him. It seemed as if they would never be over, so that he might face the truth by himself, with Strong out of the picture, and decide what must be done. Bambi noticed his strained politeness to their guest, but set it down to the same inconsistency he had shown before, of being jealous of what he did not especially value himself.

Monday, after Strong's departure, she began to realize that there was a change in him. He was taciturn and moody. The work went badly. He disagreed with her at every point, and when she suggested that they stop an hour earlier than usual, he went off by himself, without asking her to go. She began to wonder whether his dislike of Strong was really serious and something to be taken cognizance of.

Jarvis strode off into the country in a state of nerves unknown before.

A sleepless night and the irritation of the day's work had played their havoc with him. He went over the thing again and again. Bambi and Strong loved each other--he stood in the way. Why should he not take himself out of the situation at once? "She married me for a whim; she will unmarry me the same way," he reiterated to himself. "Why did she do it, in the first place, unless she cared something for me? But she told me she had no sentiment for me," he replied to his other self. "It was ambition that made her do it. She thought I would be famous. I've disappointed her, and she's through with me." He went over every incident of their reunion--his thrill at her welcome. "She didn't really care; it was just her way," he a.s.sured himself.

For hours he plunged through the woods, pursued by his bitter thoughts.

When he turned back at last, into the garden, he knew that a precious, new-born thing, which he had brought back with him after his exile, was laid away, never to be allowed to come into full flower and maturity.

His decision was made. He temporized on one point. He would stay on until the play was produced, so that if it succeeded, as he was determined it should, Bambi would have that much satisfaction from her 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.