'I'll come back to lunch tomorrow,' said Miss Bennett, 'and you can tell me about your tea-party. Oh, and here's a little bit of stuff for the plant. I suppose you'll put the azalea into the large pewter vase?' 'Yes, and I'll tie this round its neck.' 'Sorry it's cotton,' said Miss Bennett. 'I couldn't get any silk the right colour.' 'Oh, I like cotton, if only it's not called sateen! Good-bye, darling. You're delightfully quick!' 'Yes, I don't waste time,' said Miss Bennett. 'Mother says, too, that I'm the best shopper in the world.' She turned round to add, 'I'm dying to know why you want to look so pretty. Who is it?' With a quiet smile, Edith dismissed her. CHAPTER XI P.P.C. 'It always seems to me so unlike you,' Aylmer said (he had arrived punctually at twenty minutes to four)--'your extreme fondness for newspapers. You're quite celebrated as a collector of Last Editions, aren't you?' 'I know it's very unliterary of me, but I enjoy reading newspapers better than reading anything else in the world. After all, it's contemporary history, that's my defence. But I suppose it is because I'm so intensely interested in life.' 'Tell me exactly, what papers do you really read?' She laughed. 'Four morning papers--never mind their names--four evening papers; five Sunday papers: _The Academy, The Saturday Review, The Bookman, The World, The English Review_.' 'Well, I think it's wicked of you to encourage all this frivolity. And what price _The Queen, Horrie Notes, or The Tatler_?' 'Oh, we have those too--for Bruce.' 'And does Archie show any of this morbid desire for journalism?' 'Oh yes. He takes in _Chums and Little Folks_.' 'And I see you're reading _Rhythm_. That's Vincy's fault, of course.' 'Perhaps it is.' 'How do you find time for all this culture?' 'I read quickly, and what I have to do I do rather quickly.' 'Is that why you never seem in a hurry? I think you're the only leisured-looking woman I know in London.' 'I do think I've solved the problem of labour-saving; I've reduced it to a science.' 'How?' 'By not working, I suppose.' 'You're wonderful. And that blue....' 'Do you really think so?' He was beginning to get carried away. He stood up and looked out of the window. The pink and white hyacinths were strongly scented in the warm air. He turned round. She said demurely: 'It will be nice weather for you to go away now, won't it?' 'I don't think so.' He spoke impulsively. 'I shall hate it; I shall be miserable.' 'Really!' in a tone of great surprise. 'You're dying to ask me something,' he said. 'Which am I dying to ask you: _where_ you're going, or _why_ you're going?' She gave her most vivid smile. He sat down with a sigh. People still sigh, sometimes, even nowadays. 'I don't know where I'm going; but I'll tell you why.... I'm seeing too much of you.' She was silent. 'You see, Mrs Ottley, seeing a great deal of you is very entrancing, but it's dangerous.' 'In what way?'