But as an artist--how can I?
He's a thing apart from me altogether.

I know perfectly well that thousands of artists' wives wreck their happiness through sheer, stupid jealousy of their husbands' art.

I'm not such a narrow-minded, contemptible woman." She threw her little head up proudly.

"I should loathe myself if I grudged one hour that Adrian gave to his work instead of to me." This time Barbara and I sighed, for we realised how vain had been our arguments.

Our considerably greater knowledge of life, our stark common-sense, our deep affection for Adrian counted as naught beside the fact that we had no experience whatever in the rearing of a genius.
That word "genius" came too often from Doria's lips.