'Basil is like that. He doesn't mean things....'
'Oh....' Evie turned to the glass, and drew four pins out of the roll of hair behind her head, and it fell in a heavy nut-brown mass, glinting in the yellow gaslight. She began to comb it out and roll it up again.
'Doesn't mean anything, doesn't he?' she said thoughtfully. 'You seem awfully sure about that.'
'Yes,' agreed Alix. She had pulled off both shoes now, and tucked her stockinged feet under her as she sat curled up on the bed. She drew a deep breath and spoke rather quickly.
'He's always the same, he was the same with me once, he doesn't really mean it....'
'The same with you—' Evie, without turning round, saw in the glass the blurred image of the huddled figure and small pale face in the shadows behind her.
She drove in two more hairpins, then turned sharply and looked at Alix.
'You don't mean to say he used to be in love with you.'
'Oh ... in love....' Alix's voice was faint, attenuated, remote.
'Well—anything, then.' Evie was impatient. 'You needn't split hairs.... He went on with you, I suppose.... And you....'