'You seem to be going it, Mrs. Trevalla,' he said at last, unconsciously reaching out for his pipe.
'I am,' said Trix. 'Yes, do smoke. So will I.' She produced her cigarette-case. 'Well, I've arrears to make up, haven't I?' She glanced round. 'And you live here?' she asked.
'Always. I know nothing of all you've been talking about.'
'You wouldn't care about it, anyhow, would you?' Her tones were gentle and consolatory. She accepted the fact that it was all impossible to him, that the door was shut, and comforted him in his exclusion.
'I don't suppose I should, and at all events——' He shrugged his shoulders. If her impression had needed confirmation, here it was. 'And what's to be the end of it with you?' he asked.
'End? Why should there be an end? It's only just begun,' cried Trix.
'Well, there are ends that are beginnings of other things,' he suggested. What Peggy had told him recurred to his mind, though certainly there was no sign of Mrs. Trevalla being in trouble on that or any other score.
Yet his words brought a shadow to Trix's face, a touch of irritation into her manner.
'Oh, some day, I daresay,' she said. 'Yes, I suppose so. I'm not thinking about that either just now. I'm just thinking about myself. That's what you meant me to do?'
'It seems to me that my responsibility is growing, Mrs. Trevalla.'