Part 22 (1/2)
She came a step further toward the center of the room.
”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?”
”Oh, sit there,” he muttered irritably. ”Only, for heaven's sake be still!”
”Yes, Jasper.”
All of his books had brought him fame; but this one; this one would bring him fame with something else. This book would be the great work that would show to people the staggering power of one man's mind; his mind.
His eyes that stared at the window of the house opposite came back to be pile of blank paper which made a white patch on the dark wood before him.
Without any definite idea he began to write. A word. A sentence. A paragraph.
He tore the thing up without stopping to read it.
Ellen's dull-toned voice came to him through the stillness of the room.
”Anything wrong, Jasper?”
”Wrong? What should be wrong?”
”I don't know.”
He began to write again.
He looked out of his window at the window of the house opposite.
He went on with his writing till he had covered the whole page. Again he tore the paper up and threw it from him.
”I'm going, Jasper.”
He turned to see her standing in the center of the room, her heavily lidded eyes fixed on the floor.