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. "Does Mr. Jarvis Jocelyn live here?" "Three flights up-back," and the window slammed. "Wait for me, driver," she called. She began to climb the dirty stairs, tears in her eyes. "Oh, my dear, my dear!" she said, over and over again. She knocked at the third-floor back, with no response; so she opened the door and entered. One dark area window, a bed, a chair, a dresser, an improvised table with piles of manuscript. It was cleaner than the awful entrance suggested. But, oh, it was pitiful! Such a place for a dreamer! Bambi leaned her head on the dresser and sobbed. That he had been reduced to this, that he had never told them, that he had refused the Professor's money and chosen poverty! It nearly killed her, while it thrilled her with a pride unspeakable. If he had the strength for such a fight, nothing could conquer him. She started at a step outside, thinking that it might be he. Suddenly she realized that he might not want even her to see this; that he might not want her to know of this drab tent where he crawled for sleep off the field of battle. She went to the narrow bed and laid her hand gently where his cheek would rest. "Jarvis, my dear!" she whispered.