But Trix went home on feet lighter than had borne her for many a day. To her nature hope was ever fact, or even better—richer, wider, more brightly coloured. Airey had given her hope. She swung back the baize door of Peggy's flat with a cheerful vigour, and called aloud:—
'Peggy, where are you? I've something to tell you, Peggy.'
For once Peggy was there. 'I'm changing my frock,' she cried from her room in a voice that sounded needlessly prohibitory.
'I want to tell you something,' called Trix. 'I've been to Airey Newton's——'
Peggy's door flew open; she appeared gownless; her brush was in her hand, and her hair streamed down her back.
'Oh, your hair!' exclaimed Trix—as she always did when she saw it thus displayed.
Peggy's scared face showed no appreciation of the impulsive compliment.
'You've been to Airey's, and you've something to tell me?' she said, scanning Trix with unconcealed anxiety.
But Trix did not appear to be in an accusing mood; she had no charge of broken faith to launch, or of confidence betrayed.