'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 sure to fall in love and marry again.' 'No doubt,' said Edith, wishing the first wife had remained alive. She disliked the non-existent second one. * * * * * Nearly all the men had now joined the ladies in the studio, with the exception of Bruce and of Aylmer Ross. Mrs Mitchell had taken an immense fancy to Edith and showed it by telling her all about a wonderful little tailor who made coats and skirts better than Lucile for next to nothing, and by introducing to her Lord Rye and the embassy man, and Mr Cricker. Edith was sitting in a becoming corner under a shaded light from which she could watch the door, when Vincy came up to talk to her. 'You seemed to get on rather well at dinner,' he said. 'Yes; isn't Captain Willis a dear?' 'Oh, simply sweet. So bright and clever. I was sure you'd like him, Edith.' Captain Willis here came up and said, a shade more jovially than he had spoken at dinner, with his laugh: 'Well, you know, Mrs Ottley, what I always say is--live and let live and let it go at that; what? But they never _do_, you know! They won't--and there it is!'