She took the early train in high good humour the next morning, clad in her most fetching frock.
"Even a stony-hearted manager could not be impervious to this hat," was her parting comment to her glass.
She was very undecided as to whether she would go straight to Jarvis's lodgings and surprise him, or wait until after the interview with Frohman. She finally decided that she could not wait until four o'clock, but that she would give Jarvis no hint of the coming momentous appointment. As she came into the city, she noted the bright, crisp winter day with pleasure—very different from that spring day when she and Jarvis had entered the gates together. But to-day was to-day and she was glad of it.
She took a taxi, with that sense of affluence which attacks one like a germ on entering the City of Spenders. The driver looked at her again as she gave the address. The trim, smart little figure did not look much like the neighbourhood she was headed for. Probably one of these settlement workers, he decided.
At first Bambi did not notice where she was going, so happy was she to be back in this gay city.
"I know you're a Painted Lady, but you're so pretty!" she smiled, as the streets ran by. Downtown and still downtown the taxi sped, past the Washington Square district, which they had explored together, shooting off at a tangent into the kind of neighbourhood where Bambi had fallen sick at the sights and the filth. They drew up before an old-fashioned house, with dirty steps and windows and curtains. It looked like a better-class citizen on the down grade, beside the neighbouring houses, which were frankly low-class. The driver opened the door and Bambi stared up at the place.
"Why, this can't be it!" she exclaimed.
"This is the number you gave me."
"Wait," she said. She ran up the rickety steps, her heart sick with fear. She rang and waited and rang. Finally, a dirty head appeared out of an upstairs window.
"What d'yer want?" a voice demanded.