this wonderful news, that 'thank
you' is inadequate."

"I thought we had agreed not to say 'thank you' to each other."

"You never have any occasion to say it to me," she smiled ruefully.

"Haven't I? I think you don't know----" She interrupted him nervously.

"Friends don't need thank-yous. We will discard them."

"Good! Can I be of service in getting you to Mr. Frohman's office?"

"Oh, no. Jarvis will take me."

"To be sure. For the moment I had forgotten Jarvis."

"I'll telephone you when I go to town, and find out about my plans."

"Thank you."

He took her hand and held it a moment.

"Forgive me when I seem a bad friend. Trust me."

"I do, Richard, I do."

"Oh, thank you. May I say Francesca?"

"If you like. No one ever calls me by that name."

"That's why I choose it. Good-bye. My regards to the father."

"Good-bye, friend. I'm ecstatic over your news."

"So am I over any news that brings you happiness. Good night."

After he left she sank down on the couch again, her brain awhirl of her
new sensations and ideas. That Richard Strong had learned to care for
her, during these months of intimate association over the story, came
with as great a surprise as the astonishing demand of Mr. Frohman. Her
own thoughts had been so free of sentiment in regard to him; she went
over every step of their advancing friendship, asking herself how much
she was to blame for his outburst. She had only exerted her wiles for
histrionic purposes on the occasion of his first visit. He certainly
could not have misunderstood her intentions, then, when she had
deliberately explained them to him. After close examination she
exonerated herself.

Then, and only then, was she free to indulge her thoughts in the joyous
news he had brought her. Chin on hand, before the fire, she worked it
out. She and Jarvis would write the play together, together they would
go through all the exciting stages of rehearsal and trying out, together
they would make their bow before the curtain and their first-night's
speech. She decided what kind of frock she would wear. It was all
picturesque and successful. She never faced the possibility of failure.
Jarvis's name would be made as a playwright. At the thought that she was
to bring him his opportunity at last, she flushed and smiled, though her
eyes misted.

Then she began to plan how she would tell it to Jarvis, the story of her
adventuring into the new field, her swift success, and now this