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Rh had never dreamed of such a hybrid. He couldn’t grasp it. He gasped at Jarvis’s audacity.

Bambi sat curled up in the end of a wicker couch, her feet drawn under her, like a Chinese idol, every nerve attuned to attention. He noticed how, without words, she seemed to emanate responsiveness and understanding.

“Well?” he said.

“Let’s wait until you have finished to discuss it,” she said.

“Is it any good?”

“In spots it’s great. In other spots it is incredibly rotten.”

“My child,” protested the Professor.

“Go on!” she ordered.

The second act began well, mounted halfway to its climax, and fell flat. Some of the lines, embodying the new individualistic philosophy of woman, roused the Professor to protest.

“Rubbish, sir!” he cried. “Impossible rubbish! No woman ever thought such things.”

“Take your nose out of your calculus, and look about you, Professor,” retorted Jarvis. “You haven’t looked around since the stone age.”

Bambi gurgled with laughter, then looked serious.