Not that he
was jealous of David. No one man stood out as a rival. But Cannon
travelling with Myra, sharing artistic triumphs with her, escorting
her to entertainments given in her honour, Cannon, in fact,
associated in foreign minds with the beautiful cantatrice, offended
the inviolable rights of his lover's vanity. He would have her less
beautiful, less gifted, not more faithful.
Exquisitely sensitive where he was concerned, Myra detected this
subtle change in his attitude toward her and her work. The origins
of the change, she knew, were obscurely lodged in the male egoism.
He himself was not aware of them. He seemed nearer and dearer than
ever, even more ardent. He wanted her constantly within range of his
eyes and hands that he might in a thousand coaxing or, often,
petulant ways assert a fond dominion. She yielded gladly to that
sweet pressure. Strangely enough for a woman of her independent
habits, to be so loved, roused elemental instincts the more powerful
since she had never before given them outlet. So she allowed his
illusions of mastery full play, which was dangerous, as gradually
she altered the delicate balance of their relationship.
A restless month went by. It was February.
Unfortunately, Oliver's work failed to engross him.
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