'I wonder who this other place is laid for,' said Aylmer, looking at
the table.

'How indiscreet of you! So do I. One must find out.'

'How? By asking?'

'Good heavens, no!' cried Edith. 'What an extraordinary idea!'

CHAPTER X

Shopping Chez Soi

Edith was expecting Aylmer to call that afternoon before he went away.
She was surprised to find how perturbed she was at the idea of his
going away. He had become almost a part of their daily existence, and
seeing him was certainly quite the most amusing and exciting experience
she had ever had. And now it was coming to an end. Some obscure
clairvoyance told her that his leaving and telling her of it in this
vague way had some reference to her; but perhaps (she thought) she was
wrong; perhaps it was simply that, after the pleasant intercourse and
semi-intimacy of the last few weeks, he was going to something that
interested him more? He was a widower; and still a young man. Perhaps
he was in love with someone. This idea was far from agreeable, although
except the first and second time they met he had never said a word that
could be described even as flirtation. He showed admiration for her,
and pleasure in her society, but he rarely saw her alone. The few
visits and _tete-a-tetes_ had always begun by conventional commonplace
phrases and embarrassment, and had ended in a delightful sympathy, in
animated conversation, in a flowing confidence and gaiety, and in long
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