... And now she felt deeply miserable, perturbed and agitated. What a
punishment for giving way to that half-coquettish, half self-indulgent
impulse that had made her write to Paris! She had begged him to come
back; while, really, he was here, and had not even let her know. She
had never liked what she had heard of Mavis Argles, but had vaguely
pitied her, wondering what Vincy saw in her, and wishing to believe the
best. Now, she assumed the worst! As soon as Vincy had gone out of
town--he was staying in Surrey with some of his relatives--she, the
minx, began flirting or carrying on with Aylmer. How far had it gone?
she wondered jealously. She did not believe Aylmer's love-making to be
harmless. He was so easily carried away. His feelings were impulsive.
Yet it was only a very short time since Vincy had told her of Aylmer's
miserable letter. Edith was not interested in herself, and seldom
thought much of her own feelings, but she hated self-deception; and now
she faced facts. She adored Aylmer! It had been purely jealousy that
made her write to Paris so touchingly, asking him to come back--vague
fears that, if he were so depressed in Spain, perhaps he might try by
amusements to forget her in Paris. He had once said to her that, of all
places, he thought Paris the least attractive for a romance, because it
was all so obvious, so prepared, so professional. He liked the
unexpected, the veiled and somewhat more hypocritical atmosphere, and
in the fogs of London, he had said, were more romantic mysteries than
in any other city. Still, she had feared. And besides she longed to see
him. So she had unbent and thought herself soon after somewhat
reckless; it was a little wanton and unfair to bring him back. But she
was not a saint; she was a woman; and sometimes Bruce was trying....

Edith belonged to the superior class of human being whom jealousy
chills and cures, and does not stimulate to further efforts. It was not
in her to go in for competition. The moment she believed someone else