He was determined above all things to be original in his choice, and after agonies of indecision on the subject of fish-knives and Standard lamps, he suddenly decided on a complete set of Dickens. But as soon as he had ordered it, it seemed to him pitiably flat, and he countermanded it. Then they spent weary hours at Liberty's, and other places of the kind, when Bruce declared he felt a nervous breakdown coming on, and left it to Edith, who sent a fan. When Hyacinth was dressed and ready to start she asked for Anne. It was then discovered that Miss Yeo had not been seen at all since early that morning, when she had come to Hyacinth's room, merely nodded and gone out again. It appeared that she had left the house at nine o'clock in her golf-cap and mackintosh, taking the key and a parcel. This had surprised no-one, as it was thought that she had gone to get some little thing for Hyacinth before dressing. She had not been seen since. Well, it was no use searching! Everyone knew her odd ways. It was evident that she had chosen not to be present. Hyacinth had to go without saying good-bye to her, but she scribbled a note full of affectionate reproaches. She was sorry, but it could not be helped. She was disappointed, but she would see her when she came back. After all, at such a moment, she really couldn't worry about Anne. And so, pursued by rice and rejoicings--and ridicule from the little boys in the street by the awning--the newly-married couple drove to the station, '_en route_,' as the papers said, with delightful vagueness, '_for the Continent_.' What did they usually talk about when alone? Cecil wondered. The only thing he felt clearly, vividly, and definitely was a furious resentment against Lord Selsey. 'Do you love me, Cecil? Will you always love me? Are you happy?' Ashamed of his strange, horrible mood of black jealousy, Cecil turned to his wife. CHAPTER XXV Accounts 'How about your play, Bruce? Aren't you going to work at it this evening?' 'Why no; not just at present. I'm not in the mood. You don't understand, Edith. The Artist must work when the inspiration seizes him.' 'Of course, I know all that, Bruce; but it's six months since you had the inspiration.' 'Ah, but it isn't that only; but the trend of public taste is so bad--it gets worse and worse. Good heavens, I can't write down to the level of the vulgar public!' 'But can you write at all?' 'Certainly; certainly I can; but I need encouragement. My kind of talent, Edith, is like a sort of flower--are you listening?--a flower that needs the watering and tending, and that sort of thing, of appreciation. Appreciation! that's what I need--that's all I ask for. Besides, I'm a business man, and unless I have a proper contract with one of the Managers--a regular arrangement and agreement about my work being produced at a certain time--and, mind you, with a cast that I select--I just shan't do it at all.' 'I see. Have you taken any steps?'