by his bitter thoughts. When he turned back at last, into the garden, he knew that a precious, new-born thing, which he had brought back with him after his exile, was laid away, never to be allowed to come into full flower and maturity.
His decision was made. He temporized on one point. He would stay on until the play was produced, so that if it succeeded, as he was determined it should, Bambi would have that much satisfaction from her matrimonial experiment. Then he would let her divorce him, and he would take himself out of her life.
She was in the library when he went in. She caught sight of his face, and exclaimed:
“Jarvis, my dear, how tired you look!”
He started to go, but she detained him.
“Is anything the matter, Jarvis?”
“No, what should be the matter?”
“I don’t know, but if there is anything you want to talk out with me, let’s have it now. We can’t afford to have any misunderstandings between us.”
“There is nothing,” he said, and left the room.
That night, after dinner, he sat late in his study, writing. Two days later the result of the evening’s work came to Bambi:
