evelation.
He had deliberately gone off and left her, regardless of appearances.
She spent the night in anxious listening for his return, but morning
found his rooms vacant, his bed untouched. Bambi's heart misgave her.

XXIX

Jarvis was never sure what happened to him after he came off the stage
with Bambi. Something had exploded in his brain, and his only thought
was to get away, away from all the noisy, chattering, hand-shaking
people, to some quiet place, where he could think.

On the way back to the box in Bambi's train, he had been separated from
her a minute, long enough to spy the stage door, to slip out and away.
He headed uptown without design, walking, walking, at a furious pace.
Bambi, herself, was the Lady of Mystery to whom he had offered his
devotions. The thing which hurt him was that she had tricked him into
declaring himself, probably laughed at his ardour. It made him rage to
think of it. What had been her object? He could not decipher her riddle
at all. If she wanted his love, she might have had it for the taking,
without all this play-acting nonsense. These was no use in his ever
expecting to understand her or her motives. He might as well give it up
and be done with it.

He built up the whole story, bit by bit. Her mysterious trips to town
were in regard to the book, of course. The "butter-'n'-eggs" money came
from royalties. Strong had published the story in his magazine: hence
their intimacy. His thought attacked this idea furiously, then he
remembered Bambi's words, "I love Richard Strong as my good friend, and
in no other way."

There was no doubting the sincerity of that declaration. Besides, Bambi
never lied. She had not deceived him, then, with any deliberate plan to
alienate his affections so that she could be free to go to Strong. No
light along that line of questioning.

He went on, feeling his way, step by step, to the point of the
dramatization of the book. Here he paused long. Surely he had not been
her dupe here. He was Frohman's choice as dramatist. But was he? She and
Frohman had come to some understanding, because she had gone to see him
the day the play was delivered. No, that could not be, for he found her
at home when he returned. He could not find a piece to fit into the
puzzle at this point. He went over their joint work on the book--her
book. He understood, now, how she was so sure of every move, why she
knew her characters so well. What a blind fool he had been no