fully. Partly for the same reason I think, she fails to be an artist: she does not live at all upon instinct. The artist is part of him a drifter, at the mercy of impressions, and another part of him allows this to happen for the sake of making use of the unhappy creature. But in Edith the division is merely the rational, the cold and detached part of the artist, itself divided. Her material, her experience that is, is already a mental product, already digested by reason. Hence Edith (I only at this moment arrive at understanding) is really the most orderly person in existence, and the most rational. Nothing ever happens to her; everything that happens is her own doing."     

       "And hence also," continued Appleplex, catching up the thread, "Edith is the least detached of all persons, since to be detached is to be detached from one's self, to stand by and criticise coldly one's own passions and vicissitudes. But in Edith the critic is coaching the combatant."     

       "Edith is not unhappy."     

       "She is dissatisfied, perhaps."     

       "But again I say, she is not tragic: she is too rational. And in her       career there is no progression, no decline or degeneration. Her condition is once and for always. There is and will be no catastrophe.     

       "But I am tired. I still wonder what Edith and Mrs. Howexden have in common. This invites the consideration (you may not perceive the connection) of Sets and Society, a subject which we can pursue tomorrow night."     

       Appleplex looked a little embarrassed. "I am dining with Mrs. Howexden,"       he said. "But I will reflect upon the topic before I see you again."     

  

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