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88 “I think it would kill him,” Bambi answered.

They spent a couple of hours, and then went back to the club. For some reason the Cubists had stirred Jarvis deeply. He divined something new and sincere, where Bambi felt only pose and degeneracy.

“When you think of that awful street, and ‘Damaged Goods,’ and that exhibit of horrors, all in two days, I don’t wonder I feel like an old, old woman,” she said.

“Suppose we stay in to-night? There is some kind of special meeting announced here, to discuss the drama. We might go in for a little while.”

“All right. But ‘early to bed,’ for to-morrow we set out on our careers.”

“You haven’t told me what yours is, yet,” he objected.

“Mine is a secret.”

The dining-room of the club was entirely full when they went down, and the hum of talk and laughter roused Bambi’s tired sensibilities.

“It’s quite jolly,” she said. “Some of the people look interesting, don’t they?”

“I talked to that little man, over there, with the red necktie, while I was waiting for you, and he has ideas.”

“Lovely woman with him.”