cclamation
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!'

CHAPTER XVII

The Agonies of Aylmer

In the fresh cheerfulness of the early morning, after sleep, with the
hot June sun shining in at the window, Aylmer used to think he was
better. He would read his letters and papers, dress slowly, look out of
the window at the crowds on the pavement--he had come back to
Paris--feel the infectious cheeriness and sense of adventure of the
city; then he would say to himself that his trip had been successful.
He _was_ better. When he went out his heart began to sink a little
already, but he fought it off; there would be a glimpse of an English
face flashing past in a carriage--he thought of Edith, but he put it
aside. Then came lunch. For some reason, immediately after lunch his
malady--for, of course, such love is a malady--incongruously attacked
him in an acute form. 'Why after lunch?' he asked himself. Could it be
that only when he was absolutely rested, before he had had any sort of
fatigue, that the deceptive improvement would show itself? He felt a
wondering humiliation at his own narrow grief.

However, this was the hour that it recurred; he didn't know why. He had
tried all sorts of physical cures--for there is no disguising the fact
that such suffering is physical, and so why should the cure not be,
also? He had tried wine, no wine, exercise, distraction,
everything--and especially a constant change of scene. This last was
the worst of all. He felt so exiled in Sicily, and in Spain--so
terribly far away--it was unbearable. He was happier directly he got
to Paris, because he seemed more in touch with England and her. Yes;
the pain had begun again....

Aylmer went and sat alone outside the cafe. It was not his nature to
dwell on his own sensations. He would diagnose them quickly and
acutely, and then throw them aside. He was quickly bored with himself;
he was no egotist. But today, he thought, he _would_ analyse his state,
to see what could be done.

Six weeks! He had not seen her for six weeks. The longing was no
bette