He suspected Aylmer of a hopeless passion for Alice.

He was glad that Alice had not been thrown away on Aylmer.

He could not imagine himself now without Alice.

In spite of her ideas on the graphic arts, Alice was his air, his atmosphere, his oxygen; and also his umbrella to shield him from the hail of untoward circumstances.

Curious--the process of love! It was the power of love that had put that picture in the tobacconist's window.
Whatever power had put it there, no power seemed strong enough to get it out again.