Edith was interested and pleased to go to the house of her new friend and to reconstruct the scene as it must have been when Mrs Aylmer Ross had been there.

Freddy, the boy, was at school, but there was a portrait of him.

Evidently he resembled his father. The sketch represented him with the same broad forehead, smooth, dense light hair, pale blue eyes under eyebrows with a slight frown in them, and the charming mouth rather fully curved, expressing an amiable and pleasure-loving nature. The boy was good-looking, but not, Edith thought, as handsome as Aylmer.

The only other woman present was Lady Everard, a plump, talkative, middle-aged woman in black; the smiling widow of Lord Everard, and well known for her lavish musical hospitality and her vague and indiscriminate good nature. She bristled with aigrettes and sparkled with diamonds and determination. She was marvellously garrulous about nothing in particular. She was a woman who never stopped talking for a single moment, but in a way that resembled leaking rather than laying down the law. Tepidly, indifferently and rather amusingly she prattled on without ceasing, on every subject under the sun, and was socially a valuable help because where she was there was never an awkward pause--or any other kind.

Vincy was there and young Cricker, whose occasional depressed silences were alternated with what he called a certain amount of sparkling chaff.

Lady Everard told Edith that she felt quite like a sort of mother to Aylmer.

'Don't you think it's sad, Mrs Ottley,' she said, when they were alone, 'to think that the dear fellow has no wife to look after this dear little house? It always seems to me such a pity, but still, I always say, at any rate Aylmer's married once, and that's more than most of them do nowadays. It's simply horse's work to get them to do it at all.

Sometimes I think it's perfectly disgraceful. And yet I can't help seeing how sensible it is of them too; you know, when you think of it, what with one thing and another, what does a man of the present day need a wife for? What with the flats, where everything on earth is done for them, and the kindness of friends--just think how bachelors are spoilt by their married friends!--and their clubs, and the frightful expense of everything, it seems to me, as a general rule, that the average man must be madly unselfish or a perfect idiot to marry at all--that's what it seems to me--don't you? When you think of all the responsibilities they take upon themselves!--and I'm sure there are not many modern wives who expect to do anything on earth but have their bills and bridge debts paid, and their perpetual young men asked to dinner, and one thing and another. Of course, though, there are some exceptions.' She smiled amiably. 'Aylmer tells me you have two children; very sweet of you, I'm sure. What darling pets they must be!

Angels!--Angels! Oh, I'm so fond of children! But, particularly--isn't it funny?--when they're not there, because I can't stand their noise.

Now my little grandchildren--my daughter Eva's been married ten years--Lady Lindley, you know--hers are perfect pets and heavenly angels, but I can't stand them for more than a few minutes at a time. I have nerves, so much so, do you know (partly because I go in a good deal for music and intellect and so on), so much so, that I very nearly had a rest cure at the end of last season, and I should have had, probably, but that new young French singer came over with a letter of introduction to me, and of course I couldn't desert him, but had to do my very best. Ever heard him sing? Yes, you would, of course. Oh, how wonderful it is!'

Edith waited in vain for a pause to say she didn't know the name of the singer. Lady Everard went on, leaning comfortably back in Aylmer's arm-chair.

'Willie Cricker dances very prettily, too; he came to one of my evenings and had quite a success. Only an amateur, of course; but rather nice. However, like all amateurs he wants to perform only when people would rather he didn't, and when they want him to he won't; he refuses. That's the amateur all over. The professional comes up to the scratch when wanted and stops when the performance is not required.

It's all the difference in the world, isn't it, Mrs Ottley? Still, he's a nice boy. Are you fond of music?'

'Very. Really fond of it; but I'm only a listener.'

Lady Everard seemed delighted and brightened up.

'Oh, you don't sing or play?--you must come to one of my Musical Evenings. We have all the stars in the season at times--dear Melba and Caruso--and darling Bemberk and dear Debussy! Oh! don't laugh at my enthusiasm, my dear; but I'm quite music-mad--and then, of course, we have any amount of amateurs, and all the new young professionals that are coming on. In my opinion Paul La France, that's the young man I was telling you about, will be one of the very very best--quite at the top of the tree, and I'm determined he shall. But of course, he needs care and encouragement. I think of his giving a _Conference_, in which he'll lecture on his own singing. I shall be on the platform to make a sort of introductory speech and Monti, of course, will accompany. He is the only accompanist that counts. But then I suppose he's been accompanying somebody or other ever since he was a little boy, so it's second nature to him. And you must come, and bring your husband. Does he go with you to places? Very nice of him. Nowadays if husbands and wives don't occasionally go to the same parties they have hardly any opportunity of meeting at all; that's what I always say. But then, of course, _you're_ still almost on your honeymoon, aren't you? Charming!'

In the dining-room Cricker was confiding in Aylmer, while Vincy and Bruce discussed the Old Master.

'Awful, you know,' Cricker said, in a low voice--' this girl's mania for me! I get wires and telephones all day long; she hardly gives me time to shave. And she's jolly pretty, so I don't like to chuck it; in fact, I daren't. But her one cry is 'Cold; cold; cold!' She says I'm as cold as a stone. What do you thing of that?'

'You may be a stone, and a rolling one at that, said Aylmer, 'but there are other pebbles on the beach, I daresay.'

'I bet not one of them as stony as I am!' cried Cricker.

Cricker came a little nearer, lowering his voice again.

'It's a very peculiar case,' he said proudly.

'Of course; it always is.'

'You see, she's frightfully pretty, on the stage, and married! One of the most awkward positions a person can be in. Mind you, I'm sorry for her. I thought of consulting you about something if you'll give me a minute or two, old chap.'

He took out a letter-case.

'I don't mean Ill show you this--oh no, I can't show it--it isn't compromising.'

'Of course not. No-one really likes to show a really lukewarm love letter. Besides it would hardly be--'

Cricker put the case back.

My dear chap! I wasn't going to show it to you--I shouldn't dream of such a thing--to anybody; but I was just going to read you out a sentence from which you can form an opinion of my predicament. It's no good mincing matters, old boy, the woman is crazy mad about me--there you've got it straight--in a nutsh.e.l.l.--Crazy!'

'She certainly can't be very sane,' returned Aylmer.

Before the end of the evening Aylmer had arranged to take the Ottleys to see a play that was having a run. After this he dropped in to tea to discuss it and Bruce kept him to dinner.

Day after day went on, and they saw him continually. He had never shown by word or manner any more of his sentiment than on the second occasion when they had met but Edith was growing thoroughly accustomed to this new interest, and it certainly gave a zest to her existence, for she knew, as women do know, or at any rate she believed, that she had an attraction for him, which he didn't intend to give away. The situation was pleasant and notwithstanding Vincy's slight anxiety, she persisted in seeing nothing in it to fear in any way. Aylmer didn't even flirt.

One day, at Vincy's rooms, she thought he seemed different.

Vincy, with all his gentle manner, had in art an extraordinary taste for brutality and violence, and his rooms were covered with pictures by Futurists and Cubists, wild studies by wild men from Tahiti and a curious collection of savage ornaments and weapons.

'I don't quite see Vincy handling that double-edged Chinese sword, do you? said Aylmer, laughing.

'No, nor do I; but I do like to look at it,' Vincy said.

They went into the little dining-room, which was curiously furnished with a green marble dining-table, narrow, as in the pictures of the Last Supper, at which the guests could sit on one side only to be waited on from the other. On it as decoration (it was laid for two, side by side) were some curious straw mats, a few laurel leaves, a little marble statuette of Pan, and three Tangerine oranges.

'Oh, Vincy, do tell me--what are you going to eat tonight?' Edith exclaimed. 'Unless you're with other people I can never imagine you sitting down to a proper meal.'

Eat? Oh a nice orange, I think,' said he. Sometimes when I'm alone I just have a nice egg and a gla.s.s of water, I do myself very well. Don't worry about me, Edith.'

When they were alone for a moment Aylmer looked out of the window. It was rather high up, and they looked down on the hustling crowds of people pushing along through the warm air in Victoria Street.

'It's getting decent weather,' he said.

'Yes, quite warm.'

They always suddenly talked commonplaces when they were first left alone.

'I may be going away pretty soon,' he said.

'Going away! Oh, where?'

'I'm not quite sure yet.'

There was a pause.

'Well, you'll come to tea tomorrow, won't you? said Edith. 'Yes, indeed, thank you--thank you so much. I shall look forward to it. At five?' He spoke formally.

'At four,' said Edith.

'I shall be lunching not very far from you tomorrow.'

'At a quarter to four,' said Edith.

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