en also, and his house
was constantly filled with people asking his advice and begging him to
do things--sometimes not very easy ones. He was always being left
guardian to young persons who would never require one, and said himself
he had become almost a professional trustee.

As Aylmer was generous and very extravagant in a way of his own (though
he cared nothing for show), he really worked hard at the bar to add to
his already large income. He always wanted a great deal of money. He
required ease, margin and elbow-room. He had no special hobbies, but he
needed luxury in general of a kind, and especially the luxury of
getting things in a hurry, his theory being that everything comes to
the man who won't wait. He was not above detesting little material
hardships. He was not the sort of man, for instance, even in his
youngest days, who would go by omnibus to the gallery to the opera, to
hear a favourite singer or a special performance; not that he had the
faintest tinge of snobbishness, but simply because such trifling
drawbacks irritated him, and spoilt his pleasure.

Impressionistic as he was in life, on the other hand, curiously,
Aylmer's real taste in art and decoration was Pre-Raphaelite;
delicate, detailed and meticulous almost to preciousness. He often had
delightful things in his house, but never for long. He had no pleasure
in property; valuable possessions worried him, and after any amount of
trouble to get some object of art he would often give it away the next
week. For he really liked money only for freedom and ease. The general
look of the house was, consequently, distinguished, sincere and
extremely comfortable. It was neither hackneyed nor bizarre, and, while
it contained some interesting things, had no superfluities.

Aylmer had been spoilt as a boy and was still wilful and a little
impatient. For instance he could never wait even for a boy-messenger,
but always sent his notes by taxi to wait for an answer. And now he
wanted something in a hurry, and was very much afraid he would never
get it.

Aylmer was, as I have said, often a little susceptible. This time he
felt completely bowled over. He had only seen her twice. That made no
difference.

The truth was--it sounds romantic, but is really scientific, all
romance being, perhaps, based on science--that Edith's appearance
corresponded in every particular with an ideal that had grown up with
him. Whether he had seen some picture as a child that had