“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.”