“I am to make an appointment, then, for you, with Mr. Frohman, at his office?”

“If you will,” she answered gratefully.

“When will you come to New York?”

“Any day you can get the appointment.  The sooner the better.”

“All right.”  He looked at his watch.  “I must get that 5:40 back to New York.”

“Oh, you’ll stay to dinner, and spend the night?”

“No, thanks.  I must get back.”

“But the Professor will never forgive me.”

“You must make a good case for me.  I really must go.”

She rose to give him her hand.

“It was so good of you to come with this wonderful news, that ’thank you’ is inadequate.”

“I thought we had agreed not to say ‘thank you’ to each other.”

“You never have any occasion to say it to me,” she smiled ruefully.

“Haven’t I?  I think you don’t know——­” She interrupted him nervously.

“Friends don’t need thank-yous.  We will discard them.”

“Good!  Can I be of service in getting you to Mr. Frohman’s office?”

“Oh, no.  Jarvis will take me.”

“To be sure.  For the moment I had forgotten Jarvis.”

“I’ll telephone you when I go to town, and find out about my plans.”

“Thank you.”

He took her hand and held it a moment.

“Forgive me when I seem a bad friend.  Trust me.”

“I do, Richard, I do.”

“Oh, thank you.  May I say Francesca?”

“If you like.  No one ever calls me by that name.”

“That’s why I choose it.  Good-bye.  My regards to the father.”

“Good-bye, friend.  I’m ecstatic over your news.”

“So am I over any news that brings you happiness.  Good night.”

After he left she sank down on the couch again, her brain awhirl of her new sensations and ideas.  That Richard Strong had learned to care for her, during these months of intimate association over the story, came with as great a surprise as the astonishing demand of Mr. Frohman.  Her own thoughts had been so free of sentiment in regard to him; she went over every step of their advancing friendship, asking herself how much she was to blame for his outburst.  She had only exerted her wiles for histrionic purposes on the occasion of his first visit.  He certainly could not have misunderstood her intentions, then, when she had deliberately explained them to him.  After close examination she exonerated herself.

Then, and only then, was she free to indulge her thoughts in the joyous news he had brought her.  Chin on hand, before the fire, she worked it out.  She and Jarvis would write the play together, together they would go through all the exciting stages of rehearsal and trying out, together they would make their bow before the curtain and their first-night’s speech.  She decided what kind of frock she would wear.  It was all picturesque and successful.  She never faced the possibility of failure.  Jarvis’s name would be made as a playwright.  At the thought that she was to bring him his opportunity at last, she flushed and smiled, though her eyes misted.