t to see
that Francesca was herself! How she had played with him about that, too.
How she drew him out about the other characters. He stopped in his
tracks as the last blow fell. The musician was intended for a study of
him--that hazy, impossible dreamer, with his half-baked, egotistical
theories of his own divine importance. Why, in God's name, had she
married him if that was her opinion of him? His brain beat it over and
over, to the click of his heels on the pavement.

The fiddler was the Professor, of course. Any one but a blind man would
have seen it. So she had made mock of them, the two men nearest to her,
for all the world to laugh at! That she wanted to punish him for not
coming up to her expectations, that he could understand, but why had she
betrayed the Professor whom she loved?

He reviewed the period of rehearsals--her sure touch revealed again. She
knew every move. She even saw herself so clearly that she could correct
the actress in a false move. She had held herself up for public
inspection, too. He had to admit that. It seemed so shameless to him, so
lacking in reserve.

He urged his mind on to the night now passing, the night he had looked
forward to, for so many months, as the first white stone along the road
to success. Well, it had been a success, but none of his. Bambi's--all
Bambi's. She had conceived the book, worked out the play, and rehearsed
it, to a triumphant issue. It was all hers! The only part he could claim
was that Frohman had sent for him. But had he? Was it possible he had
only humoured Bambi in her desire to give him a chance? He would find
out the truth about that, and if it were so, he could never forgive her.

He saw her coming toward him in reply to the calls for "Author!" her
eyes fixed on him, shining and expectant! What had she wanted him to do?
Was it possible she expected him to be pleased?

Broad daylight found him far up toward the Bronx, weary, footsore, and
hungry. When he came to himself he realized that he must send some word
to the club of his whereabouts. He wrote a message to Bambi:

"I shall not come back to-day. I cannot. You have hurt me very deeply.

"JARVIS."

He put a special delivery stamp on it and mailed it. He found some
breakfast, and went into the Bronx Park, where he sat down under the
bare trees to face himself.

In the meantime Bambi, after a sleepless night, was up betimes. At
breakfast she protested