I had to tell the truth. "It isn't your masterpiece."

He ran his fingers through his hair with a nervous gesture. "I told
Elise that it wasn't."

"But the girl"--Elise's gaze held hot resentment--"is wonderful. Surely
you can see that."

"She doesn't seem quite real."

"Then Jimmie shall make her real." Elise laid her hand lightly on her
husband's shoulder. Her gown and golden net were all flame and sparkle,
but her voice was cold. "He shall make her real."

"No"--it seemed to me that as he spoke Jimmie drew away from her
hand--"I am not going to rewrite it, Elise. I'm tired of it."

"Jimmie!"

"I'm tired of it--"

"Finish it, and then you'll be free--"

"Shall I ever be free?" He stood up and turned his head from side to
side, as if he sought some way of escape. "Shall I ever be free? I
sometimes think that you and I will stick to this old house until we
grow as dry as dust. I want to live, Elise! I want to live--!"

* * * * *