when your name was announced, which may
account for her nonsurprise."

"Really?" he said so warmly that she blushed a bit.

"Yes, I finished the book to-day. I was thinking it all over--this last
year. My new sense of getting somewhere, and of you--the big part you
play in it all. Have I ever told you how utterly grateful I am?"

He looked down at her, sunk among the cushions of the big couch, before
replying.

"I think you need not say it," he replied. "I have been so richly
rewarded in knowing you."

"Thanks, friend."

"You've been my secret garden this last year."

"Oh, that is nice of you," she interrupted, sensing an undercurrent of
feeling. "If I am your secret garden, you're my secret well, because
nobody knows about us."

"You haven't told them yet?"

"No. When the book comes out I shall give them each a copy, and run and
hide while they read it."

"Little girl," he smiled at her, "what do you think brought me down here
to-day?"

"No idea."

"Guess."

"Can't. Never guessed anything in my life."

He took a letter from his pocket and handed it to her.

"I am to read this?"

He nodded. She opened it and read:

_"Mr. Richard Strong, New York City._

"My DEAR MR. STRONG: I have read, with very great interest, a serial
story, published in your magazine, entitled 'Francesca.' I feel that
there is the making of a delightful comedy in the plot of this novel,
and I write to ask you whether it would be possible for me to secure the
dramatic rights from the author. As the story is anonymous, I appeal to
you to put me in touch with the writer in question. I shall appreciate
an immediate reply.

"With thanks to you, in advance, Sincerely,

"CHARLES FROHMAN,
"Empire Theatre, New York City."

"Am I dreaming this? Does this mean my book?"

He smiled at her earnestness.

"It does. I came down to talk it over with you and see what you wanted
me to do."

"What do you think about it, yourself?"

"I think it's a great idea. It will advertise the book enormously. The
book will help the play. In the meantime, they both advertise you."

"A play made of my thoughts? It's too wonderful," said Bambi. "Do you
suppose he'd let me make the play?"

"I don't know. Would you like to? Do you think you could?"

"I do. I've learned lots through----" She stopped of a sudden, and gazed
at him. "Why, Jarvis must make the play, of cou