She had felt that she would like to talk with Totty, yet now she could find nothing to say.
'How's things going on ?' Totty asked, smiling.
'Very well, I think.' 'So the day's coming, Thyrza.' Thyrza played with the ends of a small boa which was about her neck.
She had no reply.

Her tongue refused to utter a sound.
'What's the matter ?' Thyrza's hand fell, she touched the sewing that was on Totty's lap.
Then she touched Totty's hand.
'Will you tell me about--about Mr.Ackroyd ?' Totty drew in her lips, knitted her brows, then bent to bite off an end of cotton.
'What is there to tell ?' she asked.
'Is he doing as he promised ?' 'As far as I know,' said the other, in a voice which affected indifference.
'And do you think he'll keep right till Christmas ?' 'That's a good deal more than I can say, or anybody else.' 'But you'll do your best to make him ?' 'I don't know that I shall bother much.

It's his own lookout.

I shall know what he means if he goes wrong again.' 'But--' 'Well?
What ?' 'You hope he'll keep his promise ?' Thyrza said, bending a little nearer, and dropping her eyes as soon as she had spoken.
'H'm.

Yes.