"Did you begin at once when you returned to London?"
"Yes."
Waymark kept silence, whilst Ida poured out a cup of tea for him, and then took her seat at the table.
"Don't you think I'm comfortable here?" Ida said. "It's like having a house of my own. I see nothing of the other people in the building, and feel independent."
"Did you buy the furniture yourself?"
"Yes; just the things I couldn't do without. I pay only three-and-sixpence a week, and so long as I can earn that, I'm sure at all events of a home, where I can be happy or miserable, as I please."
Waymark wondered. There was no mistaking the genuineness of her tone. What, then, had been the reason for this astonishing change, a change extending, it would seem, almost to temperament? What intermediate phases had led up to this result? He wished to ask her for an explanation, but to do so would be to refer to the condition she had left, and that he did not wish to do. All would no doubt explain itself as they talked; in the meantime she told him how her days were ordered, and the details of her life.
"Have you brought your pipe?" she asked, when they had drank their tea.
"May I smoke?"
"Of course,—just as you used to."