lightest movement of an eyelash Edith could
not avoid showing her surprise. No-one ever had less the air of a
married man. Also, she was quite ridiculously disappointed. One can't
say why, but one doesn't talk to a married man quite in the same way or
so frankly as to a bachelor--if one is a married woman. She did not ask
about his wife, but said:

'Fancy! Boys are rather nice things to have about, aren't they?'

She was looking round the table, trying to divine which was Mrs Aylmer
Ross. No, she wasn't there. Edith felt sure of it. It was an
unaccountable satisfaction.

'Yes; he's all right. And now give me a detailed description of _your_
children.'

'I can't. I never could talk about them.'

'I see.... I should like to see them.... I saw you speak to Vincy. Dear
little fellow, isn't he?'

'He's a great friend of mine.'

'I'm tremendously devoted to him, too. He's what used to be called an
exquisite. And he _is_ exquisite; he has an exquisite mind. But, of
course, you know what a good sort he is.'

'Rather.'

'He seems rather to look at life than to act in it, doesn't he?'
continued Aylmer. 'He's a brilliant sort of spectator. Vincy thinks
that all the world's a stage, but _he's_ always in the front row of the
stalls. I never could be like that ... I always want to be right in the
thick of it, on in every scene, and always performing!'

'To an audience?' said Edith.

He smiled and went on.

'What's so jolly about him is that though he's so quiet, yet he's
genial; not chilly and reserved. He's frank, I mean--and confiding.
Without ever saying much. He expresses himself in his own way.'

'That's quite true.'

'And, after all, it's really only expression that makes things real.
'If you don't talk about a thing, it has never happened.''

'But it doesn't always follow that a thing has happened because you do
talk about it,' said Edith. 'Ah, Mrs Mitchell's going !'

She floated away.

He remained in a rather ecstatic state of absence of mind.

* * * * *

Mrs Mitchell gladly told Edith all about Aylmer Ross, how clever he
was, how nice, how devoted to his little boy. He had married very
young, it seemed, and had lost his wife two years after. This was ten
years ago, and according to Mrs Mitchell he had never looked at another
woman since. Women love to simplify in this sentimental way.

'However,' she said consolingly, 'he's still quite young, under forty,
and he's sur