'I don't feel as if anything had happened to her,' Edith said, after a pause. 'She's odd, and I fancy she hated your marrying, and didn't want to see you again. She'll get over it and come back. Surely if there had been an accident, we should have heard by now. Do you miss her, Hyacinth?' 'Of course I do, in a way. But everything's so different now. It isn't so much my missing her, if I only knew she was all right. There's something so sad about disappearing like that.' 'Well, everything has been done that can be done. It's not the slightest use worrying. I should try and forget about it, if I were you. What's the other trouble?' Hyacinth hesitated. 'Well, you know how perfect Cecil is to me, and yet there's one thing I don't like. The Selseys have come back, and have asked us there, and Cecil won't go. Isn't it extraordinary? Can he be afraid of meeting her again?' 'Really, Hyacinth, you are fanciful! What now, now that she's his aunt--practically? Can you really still be jealous?' 'Horribly,' said Hyacinth frankly. 'If she married his uncle a hundred times it wouldn't alter the fact that she's the only woman he's ever been madly in love with.' 'Why, he adores you, Hyacinth!' 'I am sure he does, in a way, but only as a wife! 'Well, good heavens! What else do you want? You're too happy; too lucky; you're inventing things, searching for troubles. Why make yourself wretched about imaginary anxieties?' 'Suppose, dear, that though he's devoted to me, we suit each other perfectly, and so on, yet at the back of his brain there's always a little niche, a little ideal for that other woman just because she never cared for him? I believe there will always be--always.' 'Well, suppose there is; what on earth does it matter? What difference does it make? Why be jealous of a shadow?' 'It's just because it's such a shadow that it's so intangible--so unconquerable. If she had ever returned his affection he might have got tired of her, they might have quarrelled, he might have seen through her--realised her age and all that, and it would have been over--exploded! Instead of this, he became fascinated by her, she refused him; and then, to make it ever so much worse for me, Lord Selsey, whom he's so fond of and thinks such a lot of, goes and puts her upon a pedestal, constantly in sight, yet completely out of reach.' 'You are unreasonable, Hyacinth! Would you prefer a rival of flesh and blood. Don't be so fanciful, dear. It's too foolish. You've got your wish; enjoy it. I consider that you haven't a trouble in the world.' 'Dear Edith,' said Hyacinth, 'have you troubles?' 'Why, of course I have--small ones. Bruce has taken to having a different illness every day. His latest is that he _imagines_ he's a _malade imaginaire_!' 'Good gracious, how complicated! What makes him think that?'