particular reason for all this? Are you going to have the flu, or a
party, or what?'

'No,' said Edith, who was always frank when it was possible. 'I'm
expecting a visitor who's never seen me in anything but a coat and
skirt, or in evening dress.'

'Oh! He wants a change, does he?'

'Don't be vulgar, Grace. Thanks awfully, dear. You're really kind.'

They both laughed, and Edith gently pushed her friend out of the room.
Then she sat down on a sofa, put up her feet, and began to read
_Rhythm_ to divert her thoughts. Vincy had brought it to convert her to
Post-Impressionism.

When Archie and Dilly were out, and Edith, who always got up rather
early, was alone, she often passed her morning hours in reading,
dreaming, playing the piano, or even in thinking. She was one of the
few women who really can think, and enjoy it. This morning she soon put
down the mad clever little prophetic Oxford journal. Considering she
was usually the most reposeful woman in London, she was rather restless
today. She glanced round the little room; there was nothing in it to
distract or irritate, or even to suggest a train of thought; except
perhaps the books; everything was calming and soothing, with a touch of
gaiety in the lightness of the wall decorations. An azalea, certainly,
would be a good note. The carpet, and almost everything in the room,
was green, except the small white enamelled piano. Today she felt that
she wanted to use all her influence to get Aylmer to confide in her
more. Perhaps he was slipping away from her--she would have been only a