Edith smiled and looked pleased. 'He asked me not to come here much.'

'Ah! But he wouldn't want you to go anywhere. That is so like Aylmer.
He's not jealous; of course. How could he be? It's only a little
exclusiveness.... And how delightfully rare that is, Edith dear. I
admire him for it. Most people now seem to treasure anything they value
in proportion to the extent that it's followed about and surrounded by
the vulgar public. I sympathise with that feeling of wishing to
keep--anything of that sort--to oneself.'

'You are more secretive than jealous, yourself. But I have very much
the same feeling,' Edith said. 'Many women I know think the ideal of
happiness is to be in love with a great man, or to be the wife of a
great public success; to share his triumph! They forget you share the
man as well!'

'I suppose the idea is that, after the publicity and the acclamation
and the fame and the public glory and the shouting, you take the person
home, and feel he is only yours, really.'

'But, can a famous person be only yours? No. I shouldn't like it.

It isn't that I don't _like_ cleverness and brilliance, but I don't
care for the public glory.'

'I see; you don't mind how great a genius he is, as long as he isn't
appreciated,' replied Vincy. 'Well, then, in heaven's name let us stick
to our obscurities!'