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.'