discussions on books, and art, and principally people. That was all. In
fact he had become, in two or three weeks, in a sense _l'ami de la
maison_; they went everywhere with him and met nearly every day, and
Bruce appeared to adore him. It was entirely different from her long
and really intimate friendship with Vincy. Vincy was her confidant, her
friend. She could tell _him_ everything, and she did, and he confided
in her and told her all except one side of his life, of which she was
aware, but to which she never referred. This was his secret romance
with a certain girl artist of whom he never spoke, although Edith knew
that some day he would tell her about that also.

But with Aylmer there was, and would always be, less real freedom and
impersonal frankness, because there was so much more selfconsciousness;
in fact because there was an unacknowledged but very strong mutual
physical attraction. Edith had, however, felt until now merely the
agreeable excitement of knowing that a man she liked, and in whom she
was immensely interested, was growing apparently devoted to her, while
_she_ had always believed that she would know how to deal with the case
in such a way that it could never lead to anything more--that is to
say, to more than _she_ wished.

And now, he was going away. Why? And where? However, the first thing to
consider was that she would see him today. The result of this
consideration was the obvious one. She must do some shopping.

Edith was remarkably feminine in every attribute, in manner, in
movement and in appearance; indeed, for a woman of the present day
unusually and refreshingly feminine. Yet she had certain mental
characteristics which were entirely unlike most women. One was her
extreme aversion for shops, and indeed for going into any concrete