“Yes, they both slept in the end room,” said Alvina. Miss Pinnegar said no more, but padded with her tea and her boiled egg into the living room. In the morning she was wordless. Ciccio came down, in his shirt-sleeves as usual, but wearing a collar. He greeted Miss Pinnegar politely. “Good-morning!” she said, and went on with her tea. Geoffrey appeared. Miss Pinnegar glanced once at him, sullenly, and briefly answered his good-morning. Then she went on with her egg, slow and persistent in her movements, mum. The men went out to attend to Geoffrey’s bicycle. The morning was slow and grey, obscure. As they pumped up the tires, they heard some one padding behind. Miss Pinnegar came and unbolted the yard door, but ignored their presence. Then they saw her return and slowly mount the outer stair-ladder, which went up to the top floor. Two minutes afterwards they were startled by the irruption of the work-girls. As for the work-girls, they gave quite loud, startled squeals, suddenly seeing the two men on their right hand, in the obscure morning. And they lingered on the stair-way to gaze in rapt curiosity, poking and whispering, until Miss Pinnegar appeared overhead, and sharply rang a bell which hung beside the entrance door of the work-rooms. After which excitements Geoffrey and Ciccio went in to breakfast, which Alvina had prepared. “You have done it all, eh?” said Ciccio, glancing round. “Yes. I’ve made breakfast for years, now,” said Alvina. “Not many more times here, eh?” he said, smiling significantly. “I hope not,” said Alvina. Ciccio sat down almost like a husband—as if it were his right. Geoffrey was very quiet this morning. He ate his breakfast, and rose to go. “I shall see you soon,” he said, smiling sheepishly and bowing to Alvina. Ciccio accompanied him to the street. When Ciccio returned, Alvina was once more washing dishes. “What time shall we go?” he said. “We’ll catch the one train. I must see the lawyer this morning.” “And what shall you say to him?” “I shall tell him to sell everything—” “And marry me?” She started, and looked at him. “You don’t want to marry, do you?” she said. “Yes, I do.” “Wouldn’t you rather wait, and see—” “What?” he said. “See if there is any money.” He watched her steadily, and his brow darkened. “Why?” he said. She began to tremble. “You’d like it better if there was money.” A slow, sinister smile came on his mouth. His eyes never smiled, except to Geoffrey, when a flood of warm, laughing light sometimes suffused them. “You think I should!” “Yes. It’s true, isn’t it? You would!” He turned his eyes aside, and looked at her hands as she washed the forks. They trembled slightly. Then he looked back at her eyes again, that were watching him large and wistful and a little accusing. His impudent laugh came on his face.