“My dear, I assure you I did nothing of the sort. This is very vexing, for it has spoiled my evening’s work.”
The next evening George said that he did not feel in the mood for writing, and I suppose I looked disappointed, for he flared up.
“I can’t be eternally writing,” he growled.
“But you haven’t done anything at all yet.”
“That is a rather ungenerous way of expressing it.”
“But you spoke as if the work would be a pleasure.”
“Have I said that it is not a pleasure? If you knew anything of literary history, you would be aware that there are occasions when the most industrious writers cannot pen a line.”
“They must make a beginning some time, though!”
“Well, I shall make a beginning to-morrow.”
Next evening he seemed in no hurry to go into the study.