to Paris. Some gradual obscure influence, in an impulsive moment of
weakness, a conventional dread of Paris for one's idol. Then, what
Vincy told her had convinced her Aylmer was unhappy. She thought that
surely there might be some compromise; that matters could be adjusted.
Couldn't they go on seeing each other just as friends? Surely both
would be happier than separated? For, yes--there was no doubt she
missed him, and longed to see him. Is there any woman in the world on
whom a sincere declaration from a charming, interesting person doesn't
make an impression, and particularly if that person goes away
practically the next day, leaving a blank? Edith had a high opinion of
her own strength of will. When she appeared weak it was on some subject
about which she was indifferent. She took a great pride in her own
self-poise; her self-control, which was neither coldness nor density.
She had made up her mind to bear always with the little irritations
Bruce caused her; to guide him in the right direction; keep her
influence with him in order to be able to arrange everything about the
children just as she wished. The children were a deep and intense
preoccupation. To say she adored them is insufficient. Archie she
regarded almost as her greatest friend, Dilly as a pet; for both she
had the strongest feeling that a mother could have. And yet the fact
remained that they did not nearly fill her life. With Edith's intellect
and temperament they could only fill a part.

Bending down to a lower stature of intelligence all day long would make
one's head ache; standing on tiptoe and stretching up would do the
same; one needs a contemporary and a comrade.

Perhaps till Edith met Aylmer she had not quite realised what such real
comradeship might mean, coupled with another feeling--not the
intellectual sympathy she had for Vincy, but something quite different.