'What a funny way to look at it!' exclaimed Trix, laughing.
'Funny! Why? You know she'll spend it. Oh, perhaps you don't; we do. And when it's gone——'
He shrugged his shoulders; her last state would be worse than her first, he meant to say.
Trix stopped laughing. She was touched; it was pathetic to see how the man who worked for a pittance felt a sort of pain at the idea of squandering—an unselfish pain for the girl who would choose a brief ecstasy of extravagance when she might ensure a permanent increase of comfort. She could not herself feel like that about such a trifle as a thousand pounds (all in, she was wearing about a thousand pounds, and that not in full fig), but she saw how the case must appear to Airey Newton; the windfall that had tumbled into Peggy's lap meant years of hard work and of self-respecting economy to him.
'Yes, you're right,' she said. 'But she's too young for the lesson. And I—well, I'm afraid I'm incurable. You don't set us the best example either.' She smiled again as she indicated the luxurious table.
'A very occasional extravagance,' he remarked, seeing her misapprehension quite clearly, impelled to confirm it by his unresting fear of discovery, fingering the packet of five-pound notes in his pocket.
'I wish somebody could teach me to be prudent,' smiled Trix.
'Can one be taught to be different?' he asked, rather gloomily.
'Money doesn't really make one happy,' said Trix in the tone of a disillusionised millionaire.
'I suppose not,' he agreed, but with all the scepticism of a hopeless pauper.