Cecil wondered.
The only thing he felt clearly, vividly, and definitely was a furious resentment against Lord Selsey.
'Do you love me, Cecil? Will you always love me? Are you happy?'
Ashamed of his strange, horrible mood of black jealousy, Cecil turned to his wife.
CHAPTER XXV
Accounts
'How about your play, Bruce? Aren't you going to work at it this evening?'
'Why no; not just at present. I'm not in the mood. You don't understand,
Edith. The Artist must work when the inspiration seizes him.'
'Of course, I know all that, Bruce; but it's six months since you had the inspiration.'
'Ah, but it isn't that only; but the trend of public taste is so bad—it gets worse and worse. Good heavens, I can't write down to the level of the vulgar public!'