hree," she said.

The major-domo looked at her as if such _lese majeste_ deserved hanging.
In fifteen minutes more she was conducted into an anteroom, where she
was turned over to a secretary. Her business was explained to him. In
due course of time word came out that Mr. Frohman would be through in
ten minutes. She was moved, then, to a tiny room next the sacred door
leading into the inner mystery. Twenty minutes passed, then a
youth appeared.

"Mr. Frohman will receive you now," he announced in solemn tones.

Bambi refrained from an impulse to say, "Thank you, St. Peter," and
followed into the private office. For a second she was petrified with
fear, then with the courage of the terror-stricken she marched down the
long room to the desk where Mr. Frohman sat looking at her.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," said he.

Bambi fixed her shining eyes upon him and smiled confidently.

"I feel as if I'd gotten into the Kingdom of Heaven for a short talk
with God!"

The smile on the manager's face broke into a laugh. "Is it as bad as
that? Sit down and see how you like it up here?"

"Thanks," she said, sinking into the big chair beside the desk.

"So you wrote 'Francesca,' did you?"

"I did."

"You look pretty young to know as much about life as that book tells."

"Oh, I'm old in experience," she boasted.

He looked closely at her ingenuous face, and laughed again.

"You don't look it. I think there's a play in that book."

"So do I."

"Did you ever write a play?"

"No, but I've helped on several plays. I know a great deal about them,"
she assured him.

"Do you? Well, that's more than I do. Any of the plays that you have
helped on been produced?"

"That isn't fair of you," she protested. "I should have boasted about it
if they had."

"A skilled playwright could take the heart of your story and build up a
clever comedy."

"Could we have Richard Bennett, Marguerite Clarke, and Albert Bruning
play the parts?"

"Oh, ho, you've got it all cast, have you?"

She nodded.

"And I know just the man to make the play."

"Do you? So do I. Whom do you choose?"

"Jarvis Jocelyn."

"Jarvis Jocelyn? Who's he?"

"He's a young playwright. He hasn't had anything produced yet, but he's
extremely clever, and I do so want him to have the chance."

"Jarvis Jocelyn! Seems as though I had heard that name. Oh, your name is
Jocelyn," he added. "Is this a relative?"

"Sort of--husband."

"Husband? So you're married?