BOOK TWO: GAGA (continued 3)

"You ought to have seen that child's work to-day!"

"Perhaps she's going to have a baby?" suggested Sally. It gave Miss Summers a great shock.

"Oh! D'you think so?" she exclaimed, her eyes wide open with horror. "Oh, no!"

"You'd have thought they were all going to have 'em, the way the girls all looked and acted this morning. They were all potty. Silly fools."

Miss Summers gave a sigh of relief, and then she laughed a little.

"We were all rather grumpy this morning," she admitted. "It's the weather. Always upsets people. Doctor Johnson said it didn't."

"Who's he? Doctors don't know anything at all. Only take advantage of other people's ignorance. They frighten people, you know, looking wise, and making you put out your tongue, and all."

"I don't know what we should do without them," sighed Miss Summers. "Of course, there's always the patent medicines; but I never found anything that cured my indigestion."

"Only chewing prop'ly," grimly suggested Sally.

Miss Summers abruptly rolled up her work at this unsympathetic remark, and took off her pinafore. She stood uncertainly by the window.

"I've been keeping you," she said. "But I am worried about that child. I do hope she hasn't been silly. At her age they've got no sense at all. They can't see an inch before their nose. You coming now, Sally? All right, slam the door after you.... Don't stay too late."

Ten minutes afterwards Miss Summers had gone. Sally waited a little while, to give her time to reach the street and remember anything that might bring her back. Then, very quietly, she took off her own pinafore, and stole across the room and listened at Gaga's door. She could hear nothing. Sharply, she tapped, and listened again.

"Come in!" said a voice.

Sally opened the door, standing there in her grey dress, with her hair brilliant, and her whole face smiling. And Gaga, looking up from his work, saw her thus as a vision, a happy vision for tired eyes. He smiled in return and Sally advanced, without any shyness or assumed shyness, into the room.

"Wondered if you were here," she said cheerfully. "Everybody else has gone. Miss Summers and all. I'm working on something. Oo, hasn't it been a day! The girls all had the fidgets. I've been quite ill all day."

"Ill?" demanded Gaga. "Not ... not really ill? Oh, I'm.... I'm so sorry. Poor Sally!"

"Headache," mentioned Sally, rather lugubriously, so as to encourage his pity.

"Headache? Oh, poor little girl! So have I."

Sally gave a little laugh. It contained all sorts of provocative shades of meaning.

"Hn," she said. "Funny us both having headaches. You still got yours?"

Gaga nodded. She went farther towards him, hesitated, and then still nearer.

"Very bad," groaned Gaga, and Sally could see the heaviness round his eyes.

"I'm so sorry," she said in a soft voice. Then: "My hand's cool. Shall I?" She put her hand to Gaga's forehead, and felt how burning it was. She felt him grow rigid at the contact, and saw his face betray his sensitiveness to her touch. Sally's smile deepened in mischief. She was playing with him, playing with fire and Gaga at the same time, and only lightly amused at her employment. But she was still apart from him, standing erect, with her right arm outstretched. There was not yet any intimacy in her attitude. Nor could she see his face very plainly without peeping over her arm.

"That better?" she asked.

"Beautiful." Gaga tried to move his head. Failing, he put his hand to her wrist, pulled it down, and pressed his lips to her fingers.

"Now, now!" warned Sally. "I'm curing your headache."

Mildly he permitted the withdrawal of her hand and its replacement upon his brow. But in a moment Sally, perhaps growing more daring, exchanged her right hand for her left; and this meant approaching Gaga more closely, and the partial encirclement of his head with her arm. She was quite near him, as Gaga must have known; but he did not dare to put his arm round her, as he might easily have done. Sally, so experienced, guessed at his temptation, at his fear, and relished both. She was also aware of a singular tenderness towards him, a protective, superior wisdom that made Gaga seem to be a child in his trepidation. To her an embrace meant so much less than it meant to him, and she knew quite well that a flirtatious man would have recognised the game that was in progress and risked a rebuff because of the successive return. Sally was still so far from deliberately exploiting Gaga that she did not feel impatient at his slowness. She savoured it, appreciating the fact that he shrank, knowing that when she wanted him to do anything she could always manage Gaga with the lightest touch. And that was why, in a moment, she allowed herself contact with his shoulder. Gaga's arm mechanically rose, and was about her waist, quite unpossessively. His face was moved with a conflict of emotions. Sally recognised temptation and self-consciousness, and also with amusement, a sense of his own incomparable daring.

"You are a devil, aren't you!" she whispered. Instantly she knew that she had made a mistake. His arm relaxed. It was only when she drew his aching head to her breast that she recovered her mastery of him. It was the only mistake she had made, and it was at that time the last, for she learnt at once that he was sensitive to ridicule. She had stepped too far, and had thereby, for a moment, endangered her sport. She was smiling again, but she had breathed quickly, at the knowledge of danger.

"How's the head?" she asked. "My hand's getting hot."

"Very bad," answered Gaga, dreading her withdrawal.

"Let me get a wet handkerchief."

"No, no. Don't move. I.... I don't want you to move."

Unconsciously, Sally gave a little sigh. It was all so easy, so much a question of his being content with whatever she gave, that the adventure was fading. It was ceasing to amuse her.

"That's enough," she said. "Now I'm going home." She did not move, and Gaga's clasp tightened.

"No," he murmured entreatingly. "Not yet."

"Must go." She took her hand away from his forehead, lingeringly. Gaga held her to him with rigidity. "Let me go." He took no notice, and Sally's hand rested gently upon his shoulder. At last: "Well?" said she.

"Don't go."

There was the slightest struggle, and Sally was free. Gaga's face was quite red. She stood looking down at him, on her lips that same quizzical smile. Gaga could not bear it. He rose quickly, and at her flight followed breathlessly. She was again lightly imprisoned, her head to his breast, and his arms giving small convulsive pressures as he sought to retain her. She could tell his physical weakness, and his feeble, excited desire for her, and she felt his face pressed to her hair. Again Gaga kissed Sally, but she continued to withhold her lips, so that he approached no nearer than her cheek.

"You ... you must know I love you," breathed Gaga.

"Do I?" asked Sally, coolly. "I don't. Why should I?"

"Can't you tell?" He was speaking directly into her ear, so that she felt his breath. "I love you ... like this!" He held her with all his strength, and gave her cheek a fevered, gnawing kiss. "D'you see, Sally? I love you."

"How's your headache?" asked Sally.

"I ... oh, Sally. Better ... better. But Sally! I love you. Don't you love me a little? Sally!" There was a long silence. Consideringly, Sally looked down, faintly excited, but unemotional. He vainly sought to achieve a mutual kiss; but she kept her head turned away. Strange! Her brain was perfectly clear! She was aware of every contact with him, knew his every wish; and was unmoved. How different it was from when she was with Toby! Gaga's voice resumed: "I think you ... love me a little, Sally, my dear, my angel."

"Angel! Good lord!" ejaculated Sally. She put her hands to his breast, forcing him a little away. "D'you think I'm an angel?"

"Yes!" came defiantly from Gaga.

"You're mad!" cried Sally, with contempt. "You don't know what you're talking about. And even if you are in love with me, as you say, what does it mean? You'd soon get tired of me. You'd begin to think I wasn't an angel. What's the good of it all?"

Gaga looked astounded.

"But if you love me," he stammered.

Sally's face was darkened. She had tears in her eyes, and her mouth was thin and hard. There was altogether a hardness in her expression that terrified Gaga.

"Even if I did," she said in a grim voice.

"But we could be married," he urged.

Married! Sally's heart gave a jump. Her cheeks were suffused. Married! She could hardly conceal her amazement. He had flown right past her expectation by that single word. Sally was aghast, forced to exercise all her self-control to prevent him from seeing how staggered she was.

"Married!" she said, deprecatingly. "What would you want to marry a girl like me for?" But as she spoke she no longer meant the words which had been conceived in honesty. A storm of temptation was upon her. Married to Gaga! Why, nothing could stop her! Married to him, she would be unassailable. It was not to be believed.

"Because I love you. Sally, do say 'yes.'" He was beseeching. His grey face was flushed, his lips eagerly parted, his eyes radiant. Gaga seemed transfigured. And his embrace was strengthened each instant by his vehement desire for her.

"You love me?" Sally's voice had become thick and stupid as she struggled to maintain her clearness of judgment in face of this overwhelming proposal.

"Say 'yes,'" urged Gaga. "Say 'yes.' It would be so wonderful. Sally, I've never ... never been in love before. I've ... never wanted a girl like this. You're so...."

"What am I?" Sally's voice was tender, lingering. The tears came again to her eyes, so touched was she by his earnestness and his gentleness, so puzzled by the unforeseen situation.

"So lovely," Gaga breathed. His lips came nearer, and she did not withdraw. He kissed her mouth at last, and again; and at her response the kiss became long and possessive. "You lovely girl," he went on. "We'll be married ... and ... and so happy."

"I don't know," cried Sally. "I don't know."

"Dear!" he begged.

"I'm not sure. Perhaps you'll be sorry to-morrow that you asked me. Will you? Sorry? Such things have been known to happen." Her voice was quite hard, because her temptation was so great.

"I'll never change. I love you."

"I wonder." Sally shook her head. "I'll tell you to-morrow." She was still dubious, suspicious.

"Let me get a license."

Sally's heart jumped again. He had once more surprised her, and she had supposed herself altogether beyond surprise. A license! Her quick glance could fathom no deceit, no inconceivable sportiveness in Gaga.

"Oh! You are in a hurry!" she exclaimed, delayingly. "Frightened you will change."

"I'm frightened of losing you."

Sally laughed a little, held up her face, and kissed him. Still she was puzzled.

"To-morrow. But you'll be sorry by then. I won't promise."

She found it not unpleasant to be loved in this fervid, nervous fashion. It amused her. But she was curiously unmoved, and when he had put her into her omnibus Sally breathed almost with relief. Strange to feel that relief after parting from the man you might be going to marry! Sally jerked her head. She remembered suddenly that Miss Summers had said earlier in the day. "You'll think twice before you marry for just love, and nothing else," Miss Summers had said. "You're right, my dear," thought Sally. And then there came galloping into her memory a recollection that made Sally blanch. "It's not the first man who makes the best husband," Miss Summers had said. Not the first man! The reason for Sally's fear was explained. She had known all along why she was afraid and had pressed back the knowledge from her attention, so that it should not interfere with her actions. The first man was Toby; and it was of Toby that she was afraid—of Toby and his love for her; and, more than all, of her strangely smouldering love for Toby.

xix

What had she been doing to forget Toby? Had she forgotten him at all? Somehow Toby had a little faded from her mind in these days, because he was on a voyage longer than usual, and she had not heard from him. Toby, her lover! Only when she had been a little frightened or distressed had she longed for his protective arms. Otherwise he had slipped into a sure place in her self-knowledge. He was the man she loved, strong and rough, the first to capture her heart, and until now the only man to hold her imagination. At the thought of deserting him Sally shrank. She belonged to Toby. Toby belonged to her. She had been going to marry him. If she had not loved Toby she would ruthlessly have shouldered him aside; but she could not do that, because he was her lover. And she was afraid. If once she betrayed him, Toby might kill her. She became terrified at the idea. Men killed their girls for jealousy's sake. She had often read in the papers of what were called "love tragedies."

Sally did not want to die. She wanted to rise to power, to riches. And Gaga offered her the way to attain her ambition. Married to him she could have all, or almost all, she wanted. If she refused him she might lose everything. She might lose her place with Madame Gala, she might.... How harassed she was! It was such a temptation! Gaga, with money, and everything that he could offer; and Toby, with love that she craved, and years of waiting, and a poky house, and his opposition to all she might want to do upon her own account. She had a vision of his lowering face, his savage mouth. She remembered all her joys in his arms. A shudder shook Sally at thought of his vengefulness, his fierce strength. And then, when she was married to Gaga, she would be mistress of so much that she desired. It was a desperate problem. The more she thought of it, the more tormented Sally became.

She was still in active distress when she reached home; and her headache of the morning had returned. Bright colour showed in her pale cheeks, and her eyes were brilliant with excitement. She was at high tension. The first sight of their room, and her mother's squalid figure, produced a violent effect upon Sally's thoughts. Anything to escape from this! Anything! But what of Toby? His strong hands could crush the life out of her. His jealousy would be so unmeasured.... He would kill Gaga. He would kill her. Sally was carried to an extreme pitch of fear. Life was so precious to her. And she loved Toby.

Did she still love him? Did he still love her? They were both older; separation had made each of them less dependent upon the other than they had been at first, and even although her love was jubilant when Toby returned on leave she was no longer the rapturous girl of even a year before. Long and long Sally remained torn between her two desires. She did not sleep at all, but lay turning from side to side and longing for oblivion or the daylight. She had never been so confronted with great temptation and great fear. Her head ached more and more. She could not cry, or sleep, or forget. She lay with open eyes, watching the window for the dawn. And when the morning broke she was still undetermined. The choice was too difficult.

Breakfast was uneatable; her journey to work was a dream. She shrank from going into the workroom, from seeing Gaga. All her confidence had disappeared. She was a bewildered little girl—not eighteen, but a child still without sense of direction. At one minute Toby seemed the only choice to make, but principally because she was afraid of what he might do if she married Gaga; and when she forgot her fear she no longer hesitated between love and ambition. She argued that she no longer loved Toby. She never once considered her feeling for Gaga. She hardly thought of him, or of what marriage to him might mean. Her eye was all to the consequences. It was so throughout, whether she thought of Toby or his new rival. All her thoughts were anticipations.

As she sat at work she began to lose fear of Toby. She felt she could always manage him, explain to him. She pretended that they would be friends; though the thought of Toby married to another girl gave her a sharp horror. If she married, it was different. She did not imagine what Toby might feel—only what he might do. She was thus the complete egoist. Not Toby's happiness or unhappiness was implicated; but only her own dominant desire. If she had still been unsatisfied in her love for Toby, she might have valued him more; but she knew all that he could teach her of love, and already her strong eagerness for him was becoming old and accustomed. The one restraint she had was fear of what he might do; and that fear was beginning to decline in face of stronger impulses towards the opportunity which marriage with Gaga would produce. And just in this crucial stage of her reflections came a most striking fresh influence. It was brought by Miss Summers, who returned from the telephone with a solemn expression upon her face.

"Sally," she said. "Come here." When Sally approached her, Miss Summers pretended to give some instructions; but in reality, under her breath, she murmured: "Sally, don't tell the other girls; but Madam's worse this morning. Her temperature's 103." Her warning frown emphasised the meaning of the words. It made Sally's heart begin to beat fast. Madam ... Madam....

With her head low, Sally bent over her work. But that frown had brought decision to her mind. She would marry Gaga. It was so important that she should not miss this chance that she would marry him at once. She must do so. It was essential. What if he had grown frightened?

That was her new spur of fear. Toby was forgotten. She was on fire for the marriage. It had now become the only conclusion to her doubts. She must take the earliest opportunity of seeing Gaga, of conveying her acceptance, of making sure of him. Her fingers trembled, so important did time now seem to Sally. Her one anxiety was lest she should have to kindle his eagerness anew. Troubled but resolute, she tried in vain to work. Every sound made her start. All her attention was distracted from the sewing and concentrated upon the possibility of an interview with Gaga. Yet a shyness made her afraid to leave her place and go into Madam's room. The other girls would notice. What if they did? They would soon know that they could not treat her with anything but humility. She would have untold power over them. Sally almost recoiled from the knowledge of what power she would wield in the business once she was Gaga's wife. It seemed to her incredible. Her mind strayed to Miss Summers, Miss Rapson, the jealous Rose.... How would they like it? What would they do? Sally imagined the news reaching them, imagined their fear of her, their jealousy, their cutting remarks about herself. And she laughed, knowing that she would be out of reach of any of the harm that they might wish her.

While she was thus contemplating a development, the door of Gaga's room opened, and he came quickly into the workroom. Sally's heart seemed to stop beating. She felt sick with dread. He wore a flower in his buttonhole. His first glance was for Sally, as her own lightning scrutiny showed. He was white, but he smiled. His eagerness of inquiry was manifest. Sally could not help smiling in return, although she was trembling, and knew that he too must be trembling. She gave the faintest possible nod, and saw the colour start to his cheek. Gaga was checked for an instant in his progress. His smile broadened, his head was thrown back. At that moment he looked almost like a determined man, so vividly did Sally's nod cause a new ichor of confidence to run in his veins.

xx

On a bright morning about ten days later, Sally lay in bed watching her mother prepare the breakfast upon their oil stove. Although the year was in its last months it was still warm and sunny, and Mrs. Minto clambered about the room half-dressed, with her grey hair hanging behind in ragged tails. With her bodice off she looked more than ever meagre, her thin face sharper and greyer than of old, and her movements more uncertain. As Sally watched her mother she realised that the unsightly walls and battered furniture were just of a piece with the creeping figure. What she did not understand was that Mrs. Minto was so used to the furniture, which she had known during the whole of her married life, that she did not recognise its dilapidation. But Sally had no time for thought of her mother. She was excited. Her tongue came out between her teeth, and she looked at the ceiling. At last, in a laconic voice, she said:

"Ma!" Mrs. Minto glanced wearily at her. Sally considered her speech with a further smile, so that Mrs. Minto became irritated, and went on with her preparations in a rather indignant way. "Ma," resumed Sally, relishingly, "I shan't be home to-night."

Mrs. Minto started. She became instantly alert.

"Oh yes you will, my girl," she cried sternly. "None o' that!"

"Yes, I shan't be home to-night," repeated Sally. "Nor to-morrow night, either."

Mrs. Minto left her work and came to the bedside. She was like a snarling bitch, savage over her threatened young.

"Sally!" she exclaimed, in a rough voice. "What you doing! What d'you mean? Of course you'll be home. You're not going to play any tricks with me, my gel."

"I shan't be coming home," continued Sally. "Not ever. I'm getting married to-day."

Mrs. Minto sat down upon the bed.

"Married!" she screamed. "Married! Why, who you going to marry! What d'you mean? Silly girl, trying to frighten me!"

"Don't get excited, ma. I'm going to look after you. The fact is, I'm ... well, you'll be all right. Nothing to worry about."

"Who is he?" demanded Mrs. Minto. "Who is he?" She was desperately agitated. "Sally, I'm your mother.... Oh, you bad girl! You been hiding.... I knew you was hiding something. I knew where them fast frocks was leading you!"

Sally was enjoying the scene. But she suddenly checked herself.

"Ma, I'm marrying a rich man. I'm marrying Madam's son."

"Madam's son!"

"Yes." She was complacent. "Those fast frocks lead to the registry office."

"Reg.... Not in church? It's.... Sally!"

"What I say," cried Sally.

"A rich man!"

"Mr. Bertram. And what's more he loves me. And you won't have to do any more charing. Only sit here and gorge yourself on the police news, like a lady, and...."

"Married!" gasped Mrs. Minto. She gave a foolish giggling laugh, and the tears ran down her cheeks. "Is it true, Sally?"

Sally held up her left hand, brought it blazing from under the bedclothes. Mrs. Minto seized the hand, squeezed it hard, and pored over the brilliants.

"Well!" she exclaimed. Then she shook her head, and wiped the tears from her cheeks. A great sobriety appeared in her expression. Anxiety was her dominating concern. "D'you love him, Sally? You ought to have told me. I ought to have seen him. He hasn't asked for you. He ought to have come and asked your mother."

"Madam's ill. I told him I'd tell you. You got to give your consent, 'cause I'm so young. He's got no time to get away. I'm very fond of him, and he thinks I'm...." Sally hoisted her shoulders. She had spoken very deliberately.

"You said he was soppy."

Sally turned a cold eye upon her mother.

"You got too good a memory," she remarked. "What I've said to you.... Well, I knew you'd worry about him, and think I was going to get into trouble, and.... Anyway, we're getting married this morning, and going for our honeymoon this afternoon."

"Where you going?"

"In the country. Penterby. It's on the river, near the sea. You get to the sea in no time. Ga— Bertram— Bert says it's lovely. Quiet, and ... you know, you can get about."

"Married! I can't believe it!"

"I'll show you my certificate, when I get it. Don't you believe me?"

Mrs. Minto sat quite still upon the bed for a minute, her face intensely pale. She seemed unable to say anything more. Then, very slowly indeed, she recovered the power of motion, and rose wearily to her feet. She did not look at Sally, but kept her eyes away. She stood upright, and took two or three steps. But as she paused again her emotion became overwhelming, and she clutched feebly at the bedrail. With her head resting upon both thin arms she began to cry aloud—great turbulent sobs which shook her whole body.

"My baby! My baby!" she wailed noisily. "Oh, what shall I do! My baby!"

Sally's lips quivered. She tried to smile. Slowly she crept out of bed, and put her arms round her mother.

"Sh! Sh!" she whispered. "Ma! Ma! You're making me blubber, too. You old fool! It's not a funeral!"

Strange emotion shook Sally as well as her mother. But they were different. A thoughtful pucker came between her brows, and she had a smile that was almost contemptuous.

"Ma!" she repeated, as the sobs remained vehement. "Shut up, ma! Oh, what an old image! Talk about a noise! Anybody'd think it was you who was getting married!"

She had recovered her own nerve. She could not see the future; but her head was cool, and she stared over her mother's shoulder at the sunlight bleaching the outer grime of the neighbouring roofs. In her thin nightgown she looked like a child, and her face was so impish that she seemed to regard her marriage as one more in a long series of good jokes. Her eyes were wide open, and her lips smiling.