It is that second act that stops me.'
'I thought you had written the second act to your satisfaction. You said
that after the talk we had that afternoon you wrote for three hours without
stopping, and that you had never done better work.'
'Yes, I wrote a great deal; but on reading it over I found that--I don't
mean to say that none of it will stand; some still seems to me to be all
right, but a great deal will require alteration.'
The conversation fell. At the end of a long silence Hubert said--
'What are you thinking of, dearest?'
'I was thinking that supposing you were mistaken--if I failed to help you
in your work.'
'And I never succeeded in writing my play?'
'No; I don't mean that. Of course you will write your play; all you have to
do is to be less critical.'
'Yes, I know--I have heard that before; but, unfortunately, we cannot
change ourselves. I'll either carry my play through completely, realise my
ideal, or----'
'Remain for ever unsatisfied?'
'Whether I write it or no, I shall be happy in your love.'
'Yes, yes; let us be happy.'
They looked at each other. He did not speak, but his thought said--
'There is no happiness on earth for him who has not accomplished his task.
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