An Explosion

Relationships were somewhat strained in the Vane household during the
next few weeks, the two elder members being banded together in an
unusual partnership to bring about the confusion of the younger.

"I can't understand what you are making such a fuss about. You'll have
to give in, in the end. You a poet, indeed! What next? If you would
come down to breakfast in time, and give over burning the gas till one
o'clock in the morning, it would be more to the point than writing silly
verses. I'd be ashamed to waste my time scribbling nonsense all day
long!" So cried Agnes, in Martha-like irritation, and Ronald turned his
eyes upon her with that deep, dreamy gaze which only added fuel to the
flame.

He was not angry with Agnes, who, as she herself truly said, "did not
understand." Out of the storm of her anger an inspiration had fluttered
towards him, like a crystal out of the surf. "The Worker and the
Dreamer"--he would make a poem out of that idea! Already the wonderful
inner vision pictured the scene--the poet sitting idle on the hillside,
the man of toil labouring in the heat and glare of the fields, casting
glances of scorn and impatience at the inert form. The lines began to
take shape in his brain.

"...And the worker worked from the misty dawn,
Till the east was golden and red;
But the dreamer's dream which he thought to scorn,
Lived on when they both were dead..."

"I asked him three times over if he would have another cup of coffee,
and he stared at me as if he were daft! I believe he is half daft at
times, and he will grow worse and worse, if Margot encourages him like
this!" Agnes announced to her father, on his weary return from City.