somewhere for Toby, or on its way to him. The thought of it made her
body feel as though it were covered with prickles. She could not keep
still, but started to her feet and took several paces, her hand to her
cheek, as she remained deep in disturbed thought. If she saw Toby the
next night, and was again afraid to tell him of her marriage, what would
become of her? Sooner or later he was bound to know. The letter would
tell him. Oh, if only she had not written that letter! She would have
had time, and time was what she needed--time to remove her mother, to
cover her own tracks. And yet she knew now that she could not give Toby
up. And yet to give up her ambitions was now a proposition equally
impossible. She could not. She would not. She wanted everything. She
wanted Toby; but she wanted her opportunity with the business. If Toby
would only ... what? She could not bear the idea of his marrying another
girl. She wanted him for herself. But if he would only accept the
situation--for the present. If he would keep quiet. He would not. She
could not control him, because he was another human being, with desires
and impulses as insistent as her own.
Her mind came round to another position. If she had not married Gaga--if
she had kept on playing with him, tantalising him, until she had been
indispensable! No; that was impossible. Wretched creature though she
felt him at this moment to be, Gaga also was a human being. Sally was in
conflict with the world, because the world opposes to the wilfulness of
the individual a steady pressure that is without mercy because it is
without considerateness. Nothing is more selfish than the individual,
except the mass of individuals, which has greater power. Again, in her
torment, Sally longed for death. Then, quickly tangential, she returned
to Toby and their coming meeting. If she did not tell him, but let him
find her letter--she would have lost him. He would be savagely angry. He
would infallibly kill her, because she would have deserved his vengeful
hatred.
A moan reached Sally's ears. Her name was called. Gaga must have seen
from his bed the light in the next room. She hesitated, repugnance and
cruelty struggling in her mind with the knowledge that she must submit
to her burden. Then she again turned to the bedroom, fighting down her
distaste, her horror of sickness and illness, of invalidism, of Gaga in
particular. She saw his grey face all pointed and sunken in the electric
light, and took in the general bareness of the bedroom, with its plain
iron bedstead and cream coloured crockery and worn carpet and walls of a
cold pale blue.
"Sally," groaned Gaga. "I've been waiting for you."
"You ill?" she asked, perfunctorily. "Is your head bad?"
"Dreadful! How long you've been." Gaga's voice was feeble. He spoke with
difficulty. His hand was reached out for hers. With an effort Sally took
it, and bent and kissed Gaga's temple. He looked ghastly, and his face
was moist with perspiration. Had Gaga seen the aversion in Sally's eyes
he would have released her in horror; but he was self-engrossed. He had
been longing for her, and as Sally sat on the edge of the bed smoothing
the hair back from his brow he nestled closer to her, appeased by the
contact, and genuinely comforted by her presence. His eyes closed. He
made no attempt to speak.
So they remained for several moments. Then Sally tried to move, and he
resisted her movement with a clinging protest.
"I'm just going to tidy up a bit," she said. "Then I'm coming to bed."
"I wish you'd get me something.... Some Bovril ... or ... something."
Gaga was like a wasted child, not fractious, but fretful and wanting to
be petted. Sally shuddered as she took steps to gratify him; and was
glad to have some occupation that carried her out of the room and gave
her something to do. She was momentarily diverted from thought of Toby;
but she had a new desire to be away from the hotel, and in some house or
flat which she could control by herself. It would be so much easier. It
would....
When she was in bed she was prevented from sleeping by her now recurring
difficulties. She was absolutely unable to make a plan for Toby. She was
disgusted with Gaga and his sickness. She was afraid and rebellious and
exasperated. And as she lay there she felt Gaga moving, and heard his
faint groaning, and shook with a frenzy that was a thousand times more
than irritation at the tangle in which she was placed. Like all young
people, she imperiously demanded a fresh start--to cut all this mess
away, and begin again as though nothing at all had happened. She tried
to repudiate her own actions. It was no good. She could not cancel them.
What she had done was done, and the consequences were inexorable. It was
with consequences alone that she had to deal. Stifled screams rose
within her. She turned frantically from side to side.
"Sally!" peevishly protested Gaga. "I can't get ... get to sleep if you
fidget like that. You're keeping me ... awake. Disturbing me."
"Am I?" cried Sally, with suppressed anger steeling her voice. "I can't
get to sleep either. It's deadly!"
"But you're ... fidgetting."
"Oh.... I thought I was lying quite still!" she exclaimed, with irony. A
bitter laugh was checked upon her lips.
There was a silence, and Sally tried to sleep. It was of no use. With a
deep sigh that was almost a passionate exclamation, she once again gave
way to her uncontrollable restlessness.
"Sally!" came the grizzling voice of Gaga.
"What?" she shouted, past all self-restraint.
"You're fidgetting!"
"Well! Who wouldn't? You groaning--groaning--groaning. Enough to make
anybody fidget. Why, you're making me sick! Why can't you look after
yourself?... What's the use of eating things that make you ill?"
"I didn't," groaned Gaga. "I only want to get to sleep."
"O--oh!" It was a savage, inhuman sound of horror and despair. Sally,
unendurably exasperated, slipped out of bed, and put on a skirt and
coat. Then she went into the sitting-room, made up the fire, and curled
herself up in one of the armchairs. A thin voice followed her.
"Sally!" It was a direct call to hysteria. "Sally.... Sally...."
"Oh, shut up!" cried Sally. "I can't stand it. I can't stand it."
"My dearest...."
She ignored Gaga; but she could not sleep. Although he called no more,
she heard him still occasionally making some plaintive sound, while she
continued to lie curled in the chair until her limbs were cramped. Long
she pondered upon her fate and her situation; and the morning found her
still irresolute, filled with distaste for Gaga, and fear of Toby, and a
general loathing of the difficulties which she and they had jointly
created. She was unhappy in a way that she had never previously known,
helplessly indignant, and all the time argumentative and explanatory to
herself because she knew that for all that was now threatening her she
alone was at heart to blame. But this did not prevent Sally from
disliking Gaga as she had not hitherto disliked him; for Gaga was the
person whom she had most injured, and the person who now stood in the
way of complete liberty. It was as yet only an hysterical exasperation
due to her search for some scapegoat; but his sickness and his peevish
complaints of her restlessness had added to Sally's feeling an
ingredient of distaste which she could not overcome.
viii
In the morning, when they met, Gaga was sulkily distant; and Sally sat
opposite to him at their chilly breakfast with a puckered brow and a
curled lip. It was not hatred that fired her, but repugnance. If Gaga
had made any motion towards an embrace she would wildly have pushed him
from her. She could not have borne his touch. She was even thankful that
he was so silent. In this estrangement she found momentary relief. And
all the time, hammering in her head, was the one thought--Toby, Toby.
What was she to do with Toby? As she left Gaga at breakfast she was
still on the borders of hysteria. She was suffering so much from the
trials of the night that she was hardly in her senses.
The workroom, with its routine and the need for hiding her feelings,
gave her more relief. She could at least take some pains to sew
accurately, to watch the other girls, and to notice how Miss Summers
started at the slightest noise. Miss Summers, Sally knew, was worrying
about Madam and Madam's health. By now Gaga would be on his way to his
mother's home, equally concerned. Only Sally was indifferent to Madam's
health. She had no interest in it. Where she would, but for Toby, have
followed every report with curiosity, she was now more than callous.
Madam was the least of her dilemmas. Sally's eyes closed; slowly she
rocked to and fro, forgetting even the girls, and ignoring her work
altogether. Toby. Her heart contracted with fear. Toby.
And yet the day wore on, and she came to no conclusion. Late in the
afternoon there came a telephone message. Gaga was on the line, asking
for Sally. A thrill went round the workroom. Gaga-- Sally! All the girls
looked at one another. With a quickly-beating heart Sally went into the
telephone box and answered. As if directly in her ear, Gaga spoke; but
his voice was so strained that she hardly recognised it. She was still
unforgiven. The voice said: "Sally, my ... my mother's very ill. I must
stay here. I shan't come to the hotel to-night. You ... you'll be all
right."
Like lightning Sally answered: "I'll go home to-night."
The voice said "Wha-at?" and she repeated her reply. Gaga seemed almost
pleased. He commended the plan. And Sally hung up the receiver with a
sudden flush that made her whole body feel warm. It was a profound
relief to her. And in the midst of relief she found another emotion more
vehement still. She found passionate joy, and overwhelming temptation,
and then again a sharp icy fear. The emotions were all gone in an
instant. She was once more self-possessed. She returned to the workroom
with an impassive face.
"He didn't say anything about Madam. He wants me to take round a parcel
he left here last night," she glibly explained. "He's not coming in
to-day at all. I'm to take it round after I leave work."
With immediate care, she went into Madam's room and made up a small
parcel containing a cheap novel which Gaga had left there. This she
brought to her place and kept before her. Incredulously, the other girls
watched and sneered. It was the first inkling they had had of any
special relationship between Sally and Gaga. To the minds of all
occurred memory of that scene in the country, when Gaga had been
entranced by Sally's song. They remembered the unknown girl's joyous
yell, "What price Gaga on the love path! Whey!" And they remembered
Miss Rapson's word about Sally--"deep." The white-faced cocket! Rose
Anstey stared angrily at Sally, who returned the glance with a coolness
the more destructive because it arose from indifference. But Sally knew
all that was going on around her. Gaga had been a fool to ask for her
pointedly; and yet what else, in the circumstances, could he have done?
Her excitement rose as the afternoon progressed; and by the evening she
was in a fever. When all the other girls were gathering together their
work and their out-of-door clothes she joined the general melee with
something that approached fierceness. It was not that Sally had any need
to hurry, for there were two hours ahead of her; but she was on fire to
be gone, to take her little parcel to the hotel, to give the clerk there
news of her intended absence for the night, and to make a careful
toilette before her appointment. The time was too slow for Sally. She
was biting her lips with impatience more than an hour before the time
agreed upon for the meeting. Her old longing for Toby had come back with
extraordinary strength. As the darkness grew she slipped out of the
hotel and into the night-sheltered streets. For long she walked rapidly
about London, examining each clock she passed until the vagaries of them
all so heightened her passion that she could have shrieked at their
fresh discrepancies.
And at last it was nearly eight o'clock, and she walked round and round
the Marble Arch in the tortured light of the ballooned lamps, and round
the outer side of the wide road thereabouts. There was as yet no sign of
Toby. It wanted two or three minutes to the hour. A rush of traffic made
Oxford Street roar as if with fury. It was like the sea, but without
gradations of sound. Big red motor-omnibuses thundered along, and cabs
flew by. There were occasional electric broughams such as she coveted,
which tinkled a bell instead of sounding some one of the ugly horns
which added their noise to the general racket. And Toby did not come. A
panic seized her. Perhaps her letter after all had been forwarded to
him? Perhaps he was not coming? Much as she had dreaded his violence,
such a failure now impressed her as even more sinister. She had stopped
dead in the violence of this sudden thought, and was for the moment
blinded and deafened, when Toby gently took her arm. Sally's first jump
of horror was followed by such an abandonment to his arms that she was
rendered quite unconscious of the place and the notice of those who
passed. Only she recognised that Toby was there, that he was not angry,
that he was the same strong lover she had always known, ready and
determined, her lover among all men.
"Not the pictures. Not the pictures," she pleaded, with tears in her
voice. "Come for a walk. Come this way!"
She pulled at Toby's arm, and drew him towards the entrance to Hyde
Park. Her arm was hugging his, her body pressed against Toby's. Only
when they were out of that circle of light did she feel safe, appeased,
able to think with any of her old clearness. She had been a frightened
child. Now she was an exultantly happy one, given over to the great joy
of the moment.
ix
They were immediately lost in the darkness of the Park, hidden from all,
and oblivious of the flashing lamps of vehicles which drove endlessly up
the broad road from Piccadilly. And Sally was in Toby's arms, straining
him to her, sobbing and uttering little sounds of love and relief.
"Hullo, hullo!" cried Toby, jerking her chin up with a rough hand.
"I thought you'd never come! I thought you wouldn't come!" whispered
Sally. "Oh, Toby, I thought you'd never come!" She was hysterical in her
joy.
"Course I come!" exclaimed Toby. "Wodjer take me for?"
"Well, _I_ didn't know." Sally was quite unguarded. "Thought you might
have...." She checked herself. Her body was shaken with a little thrill
of laughter--laughter of silly joy. She hugged him closer. "Been away a
long time this time," she said. "Quite a sailor, ain't you?... Did you
have rough weather? Ship all sloppy with the waves? And you dancing
about to keep your feet?"
"It's _always_ rough weather," gloried Toby. "Sea goin' all the time.
But she's a daisy to keep steady. Wouldn't hardly notice you was
moving."
"_I'm_ sure!" cried Sally, ironically. "And you and the captain chatting
together in the cabin, and all."
"No." Toby was condescending under chaff. "But we're quite.... Skipper,
he's called. You don't call him captain. He's just like me. He's no
better; only he...."
"Only he knows how to sail a boat," mocked Sally.
"So do I. I sailed her up the river." He was recklessly and untruthfully
boastful, as instinct told her.
"_I_ should think so." Sally's voice was so jeering that it laughed his
pretensions to nothing at all. "And then you woke up."
Toby became expostulatory. But all the time Sally was not listening. She
was not thinking of his words at all; but was only conscious of the warm
glow running through her at his nearness and his strong clasp. Every now
and then she prompted him to kiss her; and when Toby kissed her she
felt as though she did not know what unhappiness was. He was so strong,
and his chin so firm and rough; and he had such an air of the salt sea
about him, that she was like a baby at the breast. She loved him. No
thought of Gaga came. Only the moment's delight absorbed them both.
Presently they began to walk along the dark path, Toby's arm still
pressing Sally to his side, and his head every now and then almost
savagely down against her hair. The small hat she had worn was taken
off, and was carried, swinging. Sally was so small and so comparatively
weak beside Toby's burly strength that she was all the time relishing
his power entirely to subdue her; and her wits were so quick that she
never had a moment's hesitation as to the right way to tease him. She
was without any least sensation of unhappiness. She had never been so
glad of Toby since their first exulting days of passion, and her whole
nature was bubbling and trembling towards him in the old way, as if they
had come together again after some long dreadful estrangement.
And then Sally remembered Gaga. She had been laughing so much in herself
at this long evening of freedom, that the recollection was like ice to
her heart. It was all a mockery, a fantasy; and Toby was no more hers.
She was separated from him for ever, and the more closely she was
embraced by him the less she felt herself free to belong to him. A
revulsion of feeling shook her. With an instinctive movement almost
savage, she escaped from his arm and walked onward, her face set and her
spirits banished.
"No," she cried, when Toby sought to re-establish his protective hold.
She was as if deep in thought; but in fact she was not thinking at all,
but was only overwhelmed by the old horror of her situation which had
newly arisen after this short respite of dreaming. Toby let her walk
alone, and lighted a cigarette, slouching beside her with his hands in
the pockets of his jacket. He was a dim hunched figure in the gloom.
Sally could not see him clearly; her sense of him was simply of his
strength and his responsiveness to her own physical inclinations. The
sense evoked in her heart longing which made Sally bow her head. She
sighed deeply; her fixed eyes were closed. She was quite blind. For an
instant she was lost in grave humility. Her smile in the darkness held
such sweetness that it gave proof of her true love, her beautiful and
entranced adoration.
"What time you got to be back?" Toby abruptly questioned in a
matter-of-fact tone. It was like the unexpected tearing of calico, so
sharply did such a demand break the vision and show his insensitiveness
to her mood.
"Back?" Sally was dazed. She could not understand Toby's speech. "Back
where?" She had an extraordinary feeling of shock. Her peace was
destroyed.
"To-night."
Sally caught her breath. In a strained tone that sounded, as she meant
it to sound, as though she had been merely inattentive, she made answer:
"Oh, I.... I'm going home to-night. Holloway. Stopping with mother."
Toby had looked at his watch before throwing his match away.
"It's ha' parce eight," he mentioned.
A fierceness shook Sally. It was more than she could bear. She turned
upon him in a fury. With such a snarling venom did she speak that Toby
drew himself almost defensively to his full height.
"Don't let me keep you!" she cried. "I didn't know you were in a hurry.
If you want to go home, _go_. Go!" She ended almost in a scream, and
her fists were frantically jerked.
"Here!" Toby was disconcerted. "What you talking about? I only said the
time." He seized her, and Sally struggled as of old. But she could not
resist him. There was too great a discrepancy in their strength, and in
their will, when her own will so dangerously betrayed her. Toby held her
closer and closer. His grip was tyrannic. Sally's breath was short,
sobbing; her eyes were again closed, and her lips tragically pressed
together. Her face might have been marble. And as he held her fast, Toby
forced back Sally's head and many times kissed her hotly and
possessively. "What's the row?" he demanded. She heard the savagery of
his tone, and felt his warm breath on her cheek; and some undertone of
his husky voice vibrated in her ear. "Ain't you well, Sal?" he
whispered. "I never meant I wanted to go home. I don't. You know that. I
only said the time. Only ... how long had we got? Sally, old girl...."
"All right, all right!" Sally did not know what she was saying. Her
brows were knitted in distraction. Then: "Oh, any old time...." And as
she spoke temptation suddenly swept her with a tingling heat, and her
mouth was dry and her body tense with the excitement of the overwhelming
moment. Her heart beat so fast that she was quite breathless. With an
impulse too strong for resistance she returned her lips to Toby's,
half-crying, and in vehement surrender. She could see no further, could
endure no more. At the withdrawal she cried gaspingly: "I needn't ...
needn't go home at all ... to-night. Nobody ... expects me. Toby!"
x
In the morning Sally awoke with a heavy heart. Foreboding was more
gloomy than she had ever known it. The hotel bedroom in which they had
slept was very small, and the walls towered above her. It was a dirty
room, and the bright sunlight that came through the slats of the blinds
revealed the thick London dust in the curtains and on the walls. Toby
was by her side, fast asleep. She had no sense of wrong-doing--it never
troubled Sally, who judged her own conduct by exceptional standards; but
she was again full of fear. Lightly she touched Toby's thick strong
hair, and kissed it, half raised from her pillow; and bending over him.
Her love was undiminished, but her fear of him was suddenly increased.
And as she withdrew her hand and sat upright she caught sight of the
wedding-ring which she had taken from her purse and slipped onto her
finger before they reached the hotel. They had come without luggage, and
it had been an impulse of caution which had led her to wear the ring.
Slowly she turned it round and round upon her finger, not recalling that
it was Gaga's ring, not considering her use of it an added dishonour to
Gaga, but looking at it abstractedly. The ring meant so much, and so
little. Her marriage had meant so much and so little. A faint smile
stole to her lips and played about them.
A stirring of Toby's body made her glance quickly down. His eyes were
open, and he was staring solemnly at her. His hair was all roughened,
and his dark face was puffed with sleep. He looked like her big baby,
irresistibly lovable. The smile deepened; but she did not speak. She
made no movement at all; and Toby, stretching out a lazy arm, put it
round her waist.
"Ugh!" he said, grunting with satisfaction. With calm pleasure she
enjoyed the knowledge of his great muscular strength; but she did not
respond to him at all. Toby jerked towards her, so that his head rested
against her side, and Sally mechanically crooked her arm lightly over
his further cheek. Toby blinked a little, and yawned, and looked at the
sunshine. "Wha's time?" he gaped. "Oh-o-oo."
"Dunno. Oo, bless me!" Sally roused herself. "I mustn't be late." She
reached out for Toby's watch, on the table at his side of the bed, and
held it up to the light. The time was half-past-seven. She looked at the
old watch, a cheap one with a loud tick. "I'll give you a _watch_, one
day," she said, condescendingly. "A _watch_."
"Here!" Toby's voice changed. He caught her wrist sharply--so sharply
that Sally almost dropped the watch on the quilt. "What's that?" His
tone was so strange that she was surprised, and tried to follow his
glance. It rested upon her hand--upon the wedding ring. Sally's blood
froze.
"Oh, that?" she said, with an attempt to be easy. "Can't come into a
place like this.... I mean, without a ring of some sort."
"Oh?" asked Toby, sternly. "You know all about it, don't you?"
"Well?" Sally was frightened, but simulating defiance. "It's true, isn't
it?"
"Where'd you get it?"
"Shop." She was so afraid that she was insolent.
"I s'pose you're _used_ to this sort of thing," cried Toby. He sat up
beside her, his face deeply crimsoned, his expression accusing. "Used to
it, are you?"
"No!" answered Sally.
"What did you get it for?"
Sally could not hide her trembling. She was blanched, and her shoulder
was raised as if to avoid a blow. It came. Toby released her wrist, and
seized her shoulder. Roughly, he so shoved her away from him that she
was thrown upon her face. She scrambled out of bed, and stood panting
before him, while Toby, kicking down the bedclothes, seemed crouched
upon the bed as if he might murderously spring at her. She watched his
hands, fascinated by an imagination of their grip upon her throat.
"What did you get it for?" Toby repeated, in a voice of madness.
"To come here."
"Liar!" He leapt out of bed, and Sally, in a panic, turned to fly. She
could not escape. Toby held her shoulder again. Again he savagely pushed
her, so that she fell against the wall, her head striking it. Sally slid
to the floor, shrinking from him, terrified now that death seemed so
near. She did not scream. She could still have done so; but it was not
her instinct to cry out. "You liar!" Toby said again. "What did you get
it for? Christ!" He dragged Sally once again to her feet. His fingers
were bruising her arm. She was physically helpless and half-stunned. "Is
that the way you make your living?" demanded Toby, beside himself.
"No!" It was Sally's turn to shout. "No, you fool. You _fool_!"
"You dirty little liar! It is!"