“It seems to me I wanted paper—that somebody was taking my things away—”
“You’d better tell him, Francesca; he doesn’t remember, so I don’t think it can be legal.”
Jarvis looked from one to the other.
“What’s all this? I don’t seem to get you.”
Bambi’s laugh bubbled over.
“You get me, all right.”
“For goodness’ sake, talk sense.”
“You came here, three days ago, in a trance, and announced that you had been bounced from the boarding-house, and that you needed paper to blot up the big ideas—the Niagara ideas—”
“Did I?”
“So I took you in, redeemed your clothes for you—”
“It was you who planted me upstairs in that heavenly quiet place, and brought black coffee?”
She nodded.
“God bless you for it.”
“I did something else, too.”
“Did you? What?”
“I married you.”
He looked at her, dazed, and then at the Professor.
“What’s the joke?” he asked.
