"Genius,—Jasper?"
"My genius, Ellen. Mine."
He watched her cross the room with that odd, sinuous moving of hers and place the lamp in the center of his desk. And then he saw her go to a chair within its light and, sitting down, pick up some sewing which she had left there.
He went back and sat at his desk.
He had made up his mind that this new book of his would be something big; something bigger than he had ever done before. He wanted to write a stupendous thing.
He caught up his pen and dipped it in the ink.
She startled him with a quick cough.
"Can't you be still?" He turned toward her. "You know I can't write if I'm bothered. You don't have to sit in here if you're going to cough your head off. There're plenty of other rooms in the house."
She half rose from her chair.
"D'you want me to go?"