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.
