THE HAPPY FAMILY 
 ON THE STAIRCASE 
 THE CHASTE WIFE 
 
 SHOPS AND HOUSES 
 NOCTURNE 
 SEPTEMBER 
 ^COQUETTE
 
 COQUETTE 
 
 FRANK SWINNERTON
 
 BY FRANK SWINNERTON 
 
 COQUETTE 
 
 SEPTEMBER 
 
 SHOPS AND HOUSES 
 
 NOCTURNE 
 
 THE CHASTE WIFE 
 
 ON THE STAIRCASE 
 
 THE HAPPY FAMIUT 
 
 THE CASEMENT 
 
 THE YOUNG IDEA 
 
 THE MERRY HEART 
 
 GEORGE GISSING 
 A Critical Study 
 
 R. L. STEVENSON 
 A Critical Study
 
 COQUETTE 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANK SWINNERTON 
 
 AUTHOR OF "SEPTEMBER," "SHOPS AND 
 HOUSES," "NOCTURNE," ETC. 
 
 NEW X2IT YORK 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1921, 
 BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 BOOK ONE 
 
 TOBY 
 
 ft s a ft . .. ft 
 
 BOOK TWO 
 GAGA , ......... T ,.. s 89 
 
 BOOK THREE 
 CONSEQUENCES ..** 2O 9
 
 BOOK ONE: TOBY
 
 COQUETTE 
 
 BOOK ONE: TOBY 
 
 FT was Saturday night a winter night in which the 
 
 wind hummed through every draughty crevice between 
 the windows and under the doors and down the chimneys. 
 Outside, in the Hornsey Road, horse-omnibuses rattled 
 by and the shops that were still open at eleven o'clock 
 glistened with light. Up the road, at the butcher's just 
 below the Plough public-house, a small crowd lingered, 
 turning over scraps of meat, while the butcher himself, 
 chanting "Lovely, lovely, lovely!" in a kind of ecstasy, 
 plunged again into a fresh piece of meat the attractive 
 legend, "Oh, mother, look! Three ha'pence a pound!" 
 Just over the way, at the Supply Stores, they had begun 
 to roll down the heavy shutter, hiding the bright windows, 
 and leaving only a narrow doorway, through which light 
 streamed and made rainbow colours on the pavement 
 outsi<ie. The noise of the street was a racketting roar, 
 hardly lower now than it had been all the evening. Sally 
 crouched at the window of the first floor flat, looking 
 down at the black roadway, and watching the stragglers 
 from the Supply Stores. 
 
 In the flat above there was the sound of one who sang, 
 vamping an accompaniment upon the piano and empha- 
 sising the simple time of his carol by a dully stamped 
 foot upon the floor. His foot making in soft slippers a 
 dead "dump-dump-dump" shook the ceiling of the 
 
 9
 
 10 COQUETTE 
 
 Mintos' flat. They could hear his dry voice huskily roar- 
 ing, "There you are, there you are, there you ain't ain't 
 ain't." They had heard it a thousand times, always 
 with the familiar stamp. It was very gay. Old Perce, 
 as he was called, was a carver in a City restaurant. It 
 was he who received orders from the knowing; and in 
 return for apparent tit-bits he received acknowledgments 
 in coin twopence or threepence a time. Therefore, when 
 he reached home each evening, nicely cheery and about a 
 quarter drunk, his first act after having tea was to with- 
 draw from his pockets a paper bag or two such as those 
 supplied by banks for the carriage of silver which he 
 would empty of greasy coppers. He piled these coppers 
 in mounds of twelve, and counted them over several 
 times. He then smoked his pipe, went into his front 
 room, and played, "There you are, there you are, there 
 you ain't ain't ain't." Sally did not remember ever 
 having heard him sing anything else. He was singing it 
 now with customary gusto. Sally thought he must be a 
 very rich man. Old Perec's wife, who let her practise on 
 their piano, hinted as much. His wages were low, she 
 said, but in a week his tips often came to three or four 
 pounds. Three or four pounds ! Whew ! Sally's father 
 only made thirty-five shillings in a week, everything in- 
 cluded. Mrs. Perce told Sally many other things, which 
 Sally shrewdly treasured in memory. It was well to know 
 these things, Sally thought : any day they might be ... 
 useful. For a girl not yet seventeen, Sally had a strangely 
 abundant sense of possible utilities. All old Perec's rela- 
 tives were licensed victuallers, she had learned; and one 
 day he too would take a "little 'ouse" and stand behind his 
 own bar, instead of behind the counter of a city restau- 
 rant. Those would be days ! " ' Ave a trap and go out 
 Sunday afternoons," Mrs. Perce said. "Oo, I wish you'd 
 take me!" Sally cried. "Course I will!" answered Mrs.
 
 TOBY 11 
 
 Perce, with the greatest good-humour. Meanwhile old 
 Perce had money out on loan. "I'd like," thought Sally, 
 with considering eyes, "to have money out on loan. I will, 
 too. One day. Why shouldn't I ?" 
 
 Sally's mother, Mrs. Minto, was yawning by the small 
 fire in the grate. She was a meagre little woman of about 
 forty, tired and energetic. The Mintos' flat, although 
 very bare, was very clean. Even when there was nothing 
 to eat, there was water for scouring; and Mrs. Minto's 
 hands were a sort of red-grey, hard and lined, all the 
 little folds of the discoloured skin looking as if they had 
 been bitten deep with acid that made them black. Her 
 hair was very thin, and she drew it closely back from her 
 forehead into a tiny knob like a bell-pull, leaving the brow 
 high and dry as if the tide of hair had receded. Her lids 
 were heavy over anxious eyes; her mouth was a bitter 
 stroke across her face, under the small, inquiring nose. 
 Her breast was flat, and her body bent through daily 
 housework and too little care of herself, too little personal 
 pride. 
 
 Sally resembled her mother. She too was small and 
 thin. Her hair was pale brown, an insipid colour with a 
 slight sandiness in it. Her cheeks were faintly freckled 
 just under the eyes, and her nose, equally small and in- 
 quiring, had some freckles upon it too. Her eyelashes 
 were light; her eyes a grey with splashes of amber. She 
 was sitting huddled up near the window, breathing in- 
 tently, looking out of it with eager, fascinated interest. 
 The streets were full of lures. Outside, there was some- 
 thing which drew and absorbed her whole nature. The 
 noise and the lights intoxicated her; the darkness was 
 even more bewilderingly full of dangerous attractiveness. 
 It was night, and night was the time when thrills came, 
 when her heart beat closely with a sense of timid impu- 
 dence, a sort of leashed daring. In darkness she brushed
 
 12 COQUETTE 
 
 hands against the hands of boys, and got into conversa- 
 tion with strangers, and felt herself romantically trans- 
 figured. They couldn't see how plain she was in the dark : 
 she herself forgot it In the dark she felt that she was 
 bolder, with nobody to observe her and carry tales to her 
 mother. Boys who wouldn't look at her in daylight fol- 
 lowed her at night along dark streets. She was getting 
 very experienced with boys. She could look after herself 
 with them. Her eyes interestedly and appraisingly 
 scanned every male, so that she came to know a great deal 
 about the ways of men, although she never put her knowl- 
 edge into words. She scrutinised them. In daylight her 
 plainness was a help in that, because they did not take any 
 notice of so insignificant a figure, and she absorbed every 
 detail of the "fellows" she met, without having to do it 
 under their return observation, by means of side-glances. 
 This was a benefit, and at heart made her bolder, more 
 ruthless. 
 
 At this moment, watching the people come out from 
 the little door in the shutter of the Supply Stores, Sally 
 ignored the silhouettes of women; but she peered quite 
 intensely at those of the men. Men filled her thoughts. 
 She was always choosing which men she liked, and which 
 did not interest her, and which were weak and easily ex- 
 ploited. Or, if she were prevented from doing that, she 
 could still look at them, seeing that they were men, and 
 not women. The noise was good, the lights were good; 
 but the darkness, such as there now was in the street 
 below, in all the diminished labour of late traffic, was 
 best of all. She saw the last customer at the Stores shown 
 to the door by Mr. Beddow, the keeper of the shop; and 
 the narrow door in the shutters closed. The last stream 
 of light was abruptly cut off The face of the Stores was 
 black. All the opposite side of the roadway was now 
 black. There were no more silhouettes.
 
 TOBY 13 
 
 Mr. Beddow's cheeks were very fat, and when he 
 smiled his eyes disappeared into slits just behind the top 
 of his bulging cheeks. He wore a light frizzly beard. 
 Once Mr. Beddow had given her a little bottle of acid- 
 drops. All the acid-drops were gone now. She had given 
 some of them to May Pearcey, who worked with her. 
 They had eaten the remainder next day over their work, 
 while Miss Jubb was out of the room ; and the drops had 
 made them thirsty and had given them hot, sweet breath. 
 Funny she should remember it all so clearly. 
 
 May Pearcey and she were both learners at a small 
 dressmaker's shop in a street off Holloway Road. They 
 used to walk together along Grove Road in the mornings, 
 and at dinner-time, and in the evenings. But the boys all 
 looked at May, who was a big girl with rosy cheeks and 
 eyes that were bold with many conquests. Sally only got 
 the soppy ones. That was her luck. Sally wondered why 
 a good-looking boy so often had a soppy one with him. 
 She wasn't soppy herself. The boys thought she was; 
 they never looked at her. But May picked up the good- 
 looking ones, and Sally had to take what was left. She 
 hated to see her boy always looking on at the others, at 
 May, and never at herself ; she hated to know that her 
 boy didn't like the look of her, and that he couldn't think 
 of anything to say to her: and didn't take the trouble to 
 think very hard. It made Sally snap her teeth. One 
 day, she reassured herself, it would be different. One 
 day, they'd know. 
 
 Slowly she stretched, with her arms high above her 
 head and her mouth stretched sideways in a yawn. Was 
 mother asleep? She felt cramped and tired, and as she 
 turned round to the light her eyes blinked at the contrast 
 with the outer darkness.
 
 14 COQUETTE 
 
 ii 
 
 "Oo!" groaned Sally. "Tired!" 
 
 She yawned again, a yawn that ended in a breathless 
 gasp. Mrs. Minto looked across the room at her. 
 
 "D'you want any supper?" she asked. 
 
 "Wotcher got? Peaches and cream, and a glass of 
 champagne ?" 
 
 Mrs. Minto wriggled her skinny shoulders and fingered 
 her chin. 
 
 "Don't you be saucy to me, my gel. There's a bit of 
 dry bread on the plate there. And half a glass of stout. 
 You might think yourself lucky to get that" 
 
 "Well, I s'pose I might. But somehow I don't. Dry 
 bread! It's Saturday, ain't it? What I mean, pay-day." 
 
 There was a sour glance. Mrs. Minto sighed, and 
 looked at the clock, frowning and wriggling her shoul- 
 ders. It was a form of constant drill or shudder that 
 affected her. 
 
 "Yes," she said. "And your father not home. Pubs 
 are closed. Wonder where he is. Come on, Sally. Get 
 your supper and get to bed. Sharp, now." 
 
 Sally rose to her feet and walked across the room. She 
 cut a hunk of bread, and stood about munching it, little 
 crumbs gathering upon her lips. You could see how thin 
 she was when her arm was raised. Yet she made a few 
 little dancing steps as she ate, and her face was not with- 
 out a comical air of mischief. She was an urchin, and she 
 looked it. She was unscrupulous, and a liar; but she 
 knew a great deal for her years, and she never shrank 
 from knowledge, because she was athirst for it. Knowl- 
 edge which could be turned to account was her preoccupa- 
 tion. She stood looking at her mother, weighing her up, 
 and in the midst of her daughterly contempt she had room 
 for a little admiration also. They were not altogether
 
 TOBY 15 
 
 unlike; but Mrs. Minto had taken the wrong turning. 
 She had married a drinker, and was a slave. Well, Sally 
 had benefited by knowledge of that. She might marry a 
 fool probably would have to do so, as the wily ones took 
 what they could get and went off on their own; but she 
 would never marry so incautiously as her mother had 
 done. Why should she ? If one generation does not react 
 to the follies of the earlier generation, and seek an exactly 
 contrary evil, what becomes of progress ? Sally had her 
 wits. She thought they would never fail her. 
 
 As she sat down near her mother, they both heard a 
 sudden slamming of the front door, two flights of stairs 
 below. Their eyes flew in an exchanged glance that held 
 trepidation. It was probably dad, and at this time on a 
 Saturday night dad was usually the worse for wear. Both 
 listened. There was a heavy step. Then the sound of 
 voices a woman's raised voice, and dad's. It was evi- 
 dently a row. Sally ran to the door, and they listened to 
 what was passing. Down the half -lighted stairway they 
 could just discern two figures, faintly outlined in the 
 wavering flutter of gas. Obviously dad was drunk, for 
 he was haranguing a rather hysterical Mrs. Clancy, who 
 stood at the foot of the stairs and shouted after him. 
 She said that he was drunk, that he ought not to come in 
 at that time of night stumbling about like an ostrich, 
 that decent people liked a little quiet, if he pleased. Mr. 
 Minto said he would come in when he chose, and in what 
 state he preferred. He was not obliged to consult such 
 an indiscriminate mother as Mrs. Clancy, and he would 
 not do it. Far from it. Far from it. He stood for lib- 
 erty. He had as good a right to the staircase as anybody 
 else in the house. More right, in fact. Let her bring out 
 Mr. Clancy if she wanted a fight. . . . He then proceeded 
 to the top of the first flight of stairs. He climbed with 
 difficulty, missing a stair once in a while, and breathing
 
 16 COQUETTE 
 
 hard. He was pursued by an outcry. A third voice was 
 heard that of Mr. Clancy. It was directed at first en- 
 tirely to the woman, and begged her to come back into the 
 kitchen. They could see her arm caught by Mr. Clancy, 
 from whom she freed herself by a blow. There was a 
 pause. But Mrs. Clancy broke out afresh. She was 
 beyond control, passionately shrill, and quite wildly re- 
 sentful of what had been said and done in her despite. 
 
 "Oh dear, oh dear !" cried Mrs. Minto, with inadequate 
 petulance. She stepped out on to the landing, fingering 
 her mouth. Sally tiptoed after, hardly moved, but in- 
 tensely curious. She was grinning, but nervously and 
 with contempt of the row. "Joe!" called Mrs. Minto. 
 "Joe! Come upstairs. Don't get quarrelling like that. 
 Ought to be ashamed of yourself. Come upstairs !" She 
 looked over the rails at her husband, like a sparrow on a 
 twig. He was a flight below. "Come up here !" 
 
 There was a fresh outburst from Mrs. Clancy. 
 
 "You put your 'usband to bed, Mrs. Minto. Pore 
 woman! Pore soul! Fancy 'aving a thing like that for 
 a 'usband ! 'Usband, indeed ! A great noisy drunkard, a 
 great beastly elephant, boozing all his money away. 
 Drunken fool, stamping about. . . ." 
 
 "You shut your mouth!" bawled dad, thickly. "You 
 shut your mouth. See ? When I want . . . You* shut 
 your bloody jaw. See?" 
 
 "Joe!" called Mrs. Minto, urgently, a mean little slip 
 peering over the bannisters. 
 
 "Joe !" mimicked Mrs. Clancy. "You take him to bed, 
 Mrs. Minto. Take his boots off. He's not safe. He's a 
 danger, that's what he is. I shall tell the police, Mr. 
 Minto. It's got to come. You got to stop it. I shall tell 
 the police. I will, I swear it. . . ." 
 
 Mr. Minto retorted. His retort provoked Mrs. Clancy 
 to rebuke. The quarrel was suddenly intensified. It be-
 
 TOBY 17 
 
 came rougher. Even Sally was excited, and her hands 
 were clasped together. Mr. Minto lost his temper. He 
 became mad. A fierce brutality seized him in its unman- 
 ageable grip. They heard him give a kind of frenzied 
 cry of passion, saw him raise his hands, heard a hurried 
 scuffle at the foot of the stairs, where the Clancys, both 
 alarmed, drew back towards their room. And then the 
 rattle of an arm against a rail, a slither, a bumping, and 
 a low thud. Dad, overbalancing in his rage, had pitched 
 and fallen headlong down the stairs. Mrs. Minto and 
 Sally set up a thin screaming. The gas flickered and 
 burned steadily again. A shriek came from Mrs. Clancy. 
 It was repeated. Mr. Minto lay quite still in a confused 
 heap in the lower passage. 
 
 iii 
 
 Dad was dead. It was the end of that stage in Sally's 
 life. After the funeral, Sally and her mother were quite 
 without money. Everything was so wretched and un- 
 foreseen that the two were lost in this miserable new 
 aspect of poverty and improvidence. For a time Mrs. 
 Perce was good to them, and Mrs. Clancy would have 
 been the same if Mrs. Minto had not stared through her 
 as through a pane of glass. But when that was done, and 
 the funeral was over, they had nothing. Together they 
 sat in their bare room above the noisy traffic of Hornsey 
 Road, not speaking much, but all the time turning and 
 turning in their heads all possible ways of making money. 
 In another two or three years Sally might have earned 
 more; but she was not now much above sixteen, and at 
 sixteen, in the dressmaking, one does not earn a living. 
 And while at first they thought that Mrs. Minto might 
 get needlework to do, with which Sally could help, they 
 found this out of the question. Mrs. Minto's eyes were
 
 18 COQUETTE 
 
 weak, and she could not keep her seams straight. The 
 machine they had was ricketty. Sewing, for her, was 
 impossible. For a few days she was stunned with the new 
 demand for which she was unprepared. She was nerve- 
 less. It made Sally sick to watch her mother and to 
 realise from the vacancy which so soon appeared upon 
 her face that memory and a kind of futile pondering had 
 robbed her brains of activity. With a bitter sense of 
 grudge against life, a tightening of lips already thin, and 
 a narrowing of eyes already discomfitingly merciless, 
 Sally savagely told herself that she had to do everything 
 alone. It was she who must save the situation. The 
 arrogant grasp of this fact made a great impression upon 
 her mind and her character. Henceforward she no longer 
 dreamed about men, but was alert in her intention to make 
 everything her tool, and everybody. From a young girl 
 she had been converted into an unscrupulous taker from 
 all. The death of her father was a blow which had sud- 
 denly drawn together all those vague determinations 
 which had lain concealed. There was nothing except 
 dangerous theft from which her mind shrank. Looking 
 afresh at her mother, she felt stirred by a new impatience, 
 and a succeeding indifferent contempt. Love had been 
 killed, and from now onwards she would play for her 
 own hand. Small teeth met with a snap. Her thin lips 
 were drawn back. Mrs. Minto shrank from the strange 
 venomous snarl which she saw disfiguring Sally's face. 
 
 It was as though Sally felt trapped. Everything had 
 been spoilt by this unexpected happening, and Sally's un- 
 conscious helplessness revealed. It was a blow to her 
 vanity, a douche to her crude romanticism. She had felt 
 cramped and irritable before; but now she was made to 
 realise how little she had with which to fight against 
 calamity and the encroachments of others. Compared 
 with this new danger, of starvation or slavery, all old dis-
 
 TOBY 19 
 
 comforts were shown to have been trivial, because they 
 had been accidents in a life which, however rough and 
 ugly, had been at least absorbed in plans for enjoyment. 
 Now plans for enjoyment gave place to expedients for 
 self -protect ion. Sally was indeed fierce and resentful. It 
 was with animosity that she put together the few sticks 
 of rubbish which remained to them and helped her mother 
 to rearrange these things in a single room which they 
 had taken on the other side of Holloway Road. No more 
 for them the delights of Hornsey Road and three rooms ; 
 but the confined space surrounded by these four dingy 
 walls. What wonder that Sally was desperate for fresh 
 air, for escape, and ran out of doors as soon as she could 
 wriggle free! What wonder that she walked quickly 
 about the dark streets ! Tears came to her eyes, and with 
 clenched fists she secretly whimpered in this new angry 
 despair. Of what avail? She was alone, and the streets 
 were dark; and behind her lay that one room, gloomy 
 and wretched, with a speechless ruminating mother for 
 solitary welcome ; and no hope ... no hope. 
 
 The roads she now so wildly trod were familiar ground 
 to Sally. They were all gravelled roads, upon which in 
 the evenings boys and girls cycled and flirted, and in 
 which on Saturdays and after school hours children 
 bowled their hoops and played together. As the darkness 
 grew, the roads were more deserted, for the children were 
 in bed, and the boys and girls were not allowed out. Then 
 appeared young men and girls of slightly greater age 
 and of a different class, the girls walking two by two, the 
 young men likewise. The young men cleared their throats, 
 the girls peeped and a little raised their voices, a relation 
 was established, and still the pairs continued to prom- 
 enade, safe in couples, and relishing the thought that they 
 were enjoying stolen acquaintance. Sally knew the whole 
 thing through and through. She had walked so with
 
 20 COQUETTE 
 
 May. She had tried to talk to the boys and found them 
 soppy, and herself soppy, and everything soppy. She 
 had wanted more and more excitement, and all this stroll- 
 ing and holding hands in the dark, and snatching them 
 away, and running, and being caught, was tame to her 
 eager longing for greater adventure. And now she walked 
 rapidly about the roads, her eyes full of despair, her heart 
 heavy, her brain active and contemptuous. She knew her 
 own cleverness. She knew it too well. And it was smart- 
 ing now at being proved such an ignominiously valueless 
 possession. She might be clever, she might have brains 
 enough to despise May Pearcey ; but she had not the power 
 to make a living. She must still pinch and starve beside 
 her mother. Trapped! Trapped! 
 
 It was a matter of weeks, this mood of indignant 
 despair, of baffled powerlessness in face of reality. And 
 each night, after such a lonely walk, in such a vehement 
 mood, Sally would return to the miserable room in which 
 for the present she was to spend her life. It was at the 
 back of the house, on the second floor, and there was 
 another floor above. The room had a stained ceiling and 
 a wallpaper that had discoloured in streaks. The original 
 pattern had been of small flowers on a pseudo-primrose 
 background. Now all was merged in a general stagnation 
 of Cambridge blue and coffee colour. Mrs. Minto had 
 carefully put the washstand beneath a patch that had been 
 washed nearly white by splashes; and Sally had insisted 
 that it should stand in another part of the room. "But 
 that's where a washstand's stood before," wailed Mrs. 
 Minto. "That's why" explained Sally, brutally. "Put 
 the chest-of-drawers there. / don't want to splash exactly 
 where other people have splashed. Not likely ! The place 
 ought to have been papered new." 
 
 When their bed and the washstand and a table and the 
 chairs and chest-of-drawers were in there was not much
 
 TOBY 21 
 
 else to arrange. Nor was there room for very much, be- 
 cause the bed took up about a quarter of the space. The 
 Mintos had no pictures. They thus anticipated the best 
 modern taste. But the consequence was that if Sally 
 happened to be irritable she saw the wallpaper, and the 
 wallpaper drove her crazy. It was a constant exaspera- 
 tion to her. Her extremely good taste was beginning to 
 bud, and wallpaper is as vital an aesthetic test as any 
 other. She had not yet the power or the knowledge to 
 dress effectively, but she was already learning intuitively 
 such things as harmony and colour-values. She gave an 
 eye to neatness and cleanliness, and knew how to riddle 
 the costumes of girls of her own class, beginning with 
 May Pearcey. She also was becoming aware of all Miss 
 Jubb's deficiencies. Higher than her own class she could 
 not well go, because she never had opportunities for seeing 
 well-dressed women. It was so much the Minto habit to 
 rise late on Sundays, to sit about during the afternoon, 
 and to go out only when other people were generally 
 indoors, that Sundays were wasted days. Moreover, 
 Sally had not in the past thought much of other girls. 
 She had thought only of boys. Even her new spruceness 
 was a comparatively recent manifestation. She was 
 growing. 
 
 She was growing so fast that her old knowledges had 
 been undermined. She felt raw. She felt merely exas- 
 perated with the past, so that she desired only to forget it. 
 All she had seemed to know and to relish had become in- 
 sipid to Sally. She was chafing at her new position, and 
 was unconsciously looking round and round her, bewil- 
 dered, for a new path to follow. She could no longer take 
 the old silly pleasure in hearing of May's fresh conquests, 
 which gave May such monotonous delight. She aban- 
 doned "boys," and was rewarded for her emancipation by 
 May's indignant sniffs at her loss of spirit. May was
 
 22 COQUETTE 
 
 driven to take a new comrade, a girl prettier than Sally, 
 and therefore more of a rival. So May was equally dis- 
 satisfied with the present position. She had lost ground, 
 and some of her victories were invented. Nellie Caven- 
 dish had a sharp tongue, and that helped May ; but Nellie 
 was less coarsely confident than May, and annexed the 
 boys by means of her demureness in face of double mean- 
 ings. May could not refrain from turning away to hide 
 a burst of laughter. That gave Nellie an advantage, and 
 May secretly longed to hunt once more with Sally. When 
 the old times could not be recaptured, May sneered in self- 
 defence. The two girls did not chatter over their work 
 now when they were left alone. They became hostile, 
 each aggrieved, and both mutually contemptuous. Sally 
 kept to her stitching, and glowered. May thought to 
 herself. Sally abruptly announced the soppiness of May's 
 continued exploits. When asked by her mother if she 
 were not going out with May, Sally returned the cold 
 answer that May was soft, and continued to walk alone, 
 much disturbed, and privately indignant that her mother 
 should be so blind as to ignore the alteration that had 
 come about. She was lonely and wretched, spoiling for 
 any mischief that might offer. 
 
 Material for the use of such desperation never lacks. 
 It arose naturally. Toby came into her life. 
 
 Toby was a young man of about twenty years of age, 
 who lived in the house. She caught sight of him one 
 night as she returned home, for he was running down the 
 stairs as she went up them. He was of middle height, 
 very dark and rather stoutly built; and he wore a cap. 
 That was all she noticed at their first encounter, since the 
 stairs were dark : that, and the fact that he did not draw 
 to one side as they met. The contact filled her mind with 
 sudden interest. She thought about him as she munched 
 her supper, and wondered what he was really like. She
 
 TOBY M 
 
 wreathed around Toby quite a host of guesses not very 
 deep or vivid, but sufficiently so to make her think of him 
 still as she undressed and slipped into bed beside her 
 mother. Her last thought before sleep came was a faint 
 enjoyment of the knowledge that a young man lived in 
 the same house. It was the faintest of thoughts, due 
 solely to her restlessness ; but in the gloom she was con- 
 scious of him and of the conviction that they would meet 
 again upon the stairs. For that time this was as far as 
 speculation could carry her. Sally did not think of her- 
 self at all only that there was a young man, and that 
 she should see him again. The rest of her attention was 
 absorbed in the endeavour to remember all she had noticed 
 of his appearance in that hasty meeting. She had seen 
 enough to be sure of recognising him again with the house 
 as associative background. That was all. Knowing it, 
 she feel asleep, and dreamed of a sudden gift of beauty 
 and attractiveness. 
 
 iv 
 
 For several days Sally did not see the young man, and 
 so she half forgot him, lost him in the mixture of her 
 more pressing preoccupations. Every morning she rose 
 at eight o'clock, after her mother had left the house for 
 her first situation, and then, breakfasting slowly, she had 
 just time to reach Miss Jubb's by nine. She did not like 
 Miss Jubb, who was a thin-faced and fussy person who 
 always wore a grey pinafore and felt that her untidy grey 
 hair looked as though it might hint a sorrow rather than 
 betray advancing years. Miss Jubb was full of the futile 
 vanity of the elderly spinster, her mouth full of pins, and 
 her head full of paper patterns. She lived with her 
 mother on two floors of an old house, and one of the 
 downstairs rooms was used on Sundays for sitting in and 
 during the week for trying on. The work she did never
 
 24. COQUETTE 
 
 suggested anything of the enormous pains Miss Jubb took 
 in fitting, in fastening pins and cutting out. She was 
 incurably a bad dressmaker; but she gave her clients the 
 impression that she knew her business. This was be- 
 cause she was so careful, and because they knew no better 
 than she did what women may and may not wear with 
 propriety. The backs of all skirts coming from Miss 
 Jubb drooped lower than the fronts. Her bodices always 
 went wrong upon the shoulders. She was great on tucks. 
 But she was cheap, and she was Sybil-like in her mysteri- 
 ous assurance. So she supported herself and her mother; 
 while May and Sally did the rough basting and all sorts 
 of odd jobs in the room behind the parlour. Here were 
 the big cutting-out table, the treadled sewing machine, 
 three or four chairs, many fragments of material, several 
 half-made garments, and, upon the walls, a number of 
 coloured prints from fashion papers. In such surround- 
 ings Sally spent her days. She ate her lunch at twelve 
 o'clock, and had her tea at four. And as her fingers 
 worked, or her feet occasionally by special permission 
 propelled the sewing machine, she thought of the future 
 and planned to get into the West End. 
 
 It was the West End that now lured her. If only she 
 could get into the West End all her troubles would be 
 wiped away at once, she felt. She could possibly make 
 more money there ; but even if she did not succeed in that 
 aim she would still be in the running for better work. 
 That she could do better work she never doubted. And 
 she knew that as long as she was with Miss Jubb she 
 would never do anything at all. Some instinct told her 
 that. She knew it. She knew it as clearly as if she had 
 surveyed the future from above. It was not that she 
 was suddenly wise ; but only that ambition had come into 
 her consciousness. The blow she had received by her 
 father's death had struck deep into her character. She
 
 TOBY 25 
 
 had now to make something of her life, or starve. With 
 a quick circle of thought she imagined her mother dead. 
 What would happen then ? What chance had she ? Only 
 vaguely did Sally glimpse the possibilities. She knew she 
 could not keep herself. She had one aunt her mother's 
 sister with two boy children who were both younger 
 than Sally ; but Aunt Emmy had a rough time herself, and 
 could hardly be a help. Sally saw clearly enough that 
 she had to fight alone. Very well, if she had to fight alone 
 she would do it, and fight hard. As she scowled, it be- 
 came evident that Sally would in this fight unscrupulously 
 use every weapon that she could seize. She would not 
 shrink from anything that put opportunity into her head. 
 She was already hardened a kind of hardening on the 
 surface, or in strata, which left curious soft places in her 
 nature, streaks of good and layers and patches of armour 
 and grit and callous cruelty. Above all, she was deter- 
 mined upon having money. Money was the essential 
 thing. Money meant safety. And safety, when starva- 
 tion threatens, becomes the one imperious if ignominious 
 ideal. Once one has known physical hunger, no act is 
 inconceivable as a means of averting the risk of a similar 
 experience. 
 
 Thus Sally's thoughts ran, not coherently or explicitly, 
 but in vehement revolts and resolves. Thus she rumi- 
 nated, while Miss Jubb was out of the room or had her 
 attention so distracted that she could not observe an idle 
 apprentice. When Miss Jubb came back to the room or 
 to supervision work had a little to be hurried, so that she 
 might not find occasion for complaint. For Miss Jubb 
 had a sharp tongue, and although she took the pins out 
 of her mouth before she talked she showed that they had 
 left their influence upon her tongue, which was sharp to a 
 fault. And there, across the room, was the rosy-cheeked 
 May Pearcey, so silly, so incapable of more than momen-
 
 26 COQUETTE 
 
 tary resentment, that she was always forgetting that Sally 
 and she no longer spoke, but was always trying to encour- 
 age Sally into a return to their former relation. Some- 
 times Sally would glower across at May, bitterly hating 
 her and riddling her plumpness and folly with the keen eye 
 of malice. May, unconscious of the scrutiny, would go on 
 with her work, self-satisfied, much coarser and more 
 physical in her appetites than Sally, still in spite of all the 
 rebuffs she had received grinning about her boys and what 
 they had said and what they had meant. . . . 
 
 "Oo, he is awful!" she would burst out to Sally. "The 
 things he said. I dint half blush." 
 
 May had enjoyed his boldness, it seemed. She told 
 Sally what he had said. She told her things and things 
 in the irresistible splurge of the silly girl whose mind is 
 full of adolescent impurity. Well, Sally knew all that. 
 She knew all the things that boys said; and a few more 
 things she had noticed and thought for herself. She was 
 not a prude. May didn't know anything that Sally did 
 not know; but she talked about it. Sally did not talk. 
 Her sexual knowledges, so far as they went, were as close 
 and searching as a small-tooth comb, and collected as 
 much that was undesirable. She despised May. May was 
 a fool. She was soppy, talking about all these things as 
 if they were new marvels, when they were as old as the 
 hills and as old as the crude coquetries of boys and girls. 
 May was the soppiest girl in Holloway. Yet the boys 
 liked her for her plump face and arms and legs, and her 
 red cheeks, and her self-conscious laugh, and her eyes that 
 held guilt and evil and general silliness and vanity. The 
 boys liked May. They did not like Sally. She was too 
 small and sandy ; too obviously critical and contemptuous 
 in face of their small stock of talk, and too greedy of 
 their poor and pompously-displayed schemes for econom- 
 ical entertainment. Sally's teeth showed like the teeth of
 
 TOBY 27 
 
 a cat, very small and sharp, emblems of her nature. Con- 
 ceit took firmer root in her heart because of her contempt 
 for May and her inevitable suppressions of pain and re- 
 sentment in face of neglect, as well as her suppressions of 
 knowledge gained by a mental process so quick that May 
 could never have had the smallest notion of it. Sally be- 
 came secret, and her determination was made more em- 
 phatic. She began to study her face, and her body. One 
 day her mother found her naked in front of a mirror, 
 twisting herself so that she could see the poise of her 
 figure. It was a pretty figure, if underdeveloped, and 
 from that time of thorough examination onwards Sally 
 never had the smallest doubt of her own attractiveness 
 and its principal constituents. Only her face was wrong, 
 she felt with bitter chagrin ; her face and her hair. If her 
 face were fatter and less freckled, and if her hair were 
 not so sandy and pale, she would be pretty. Really 
 pretty. Pretty enough to make a man go silly. Well, 
 such things could be cured, couldn't they? Or, if not 
 cured, then at least improved. . . . That was a notion 
 that dwelt constantly in Sally's thoughts. 
 
 The point was, that she must have actual experience in 
 rousing men. It was not that she had determined upon 
 marriage as a way out of her present difficulties. At 
 the back of her mind, perhaps, was always the knowl- 
 edge that she must get a man to work for her; but this 
 never became an obsession. She was simply a growing 
 girl, hungry for experience, and at the outset hampered 
 by circumstance. Unless something happened to her, 
 Sally was doomed to poverty and suffering. Therefore, 
 full of raw confidence, she was determined that she 
 should be the heroine of her own romance. Her im-
 
 28 COQUETTE 
 
 pulse was not to give, but to take. She did not long 
 to be the loving help of a good man, but was ever craft- 
 ily bent upon exploiting the weaker sides of those she 
 met for the furtherance of her own ends. 
 
 It was several days before she met Toby again; but 
 she waited with a kind of patience w r holly in keeping 
 with the rest of her nature. She always expected to 
 meet him upon the stairs, and never did so. In the 
 streets she looked for him. Nights, however, were dark, 
 and Toby apparently elusive. But one evening she was 
 running down the three steps at the front door just as 
 he arrived home. With a quick breath she ventured a 
 "good evening." When he answered, she was filled with 
 a pleasure which she would have found it hard to ex- 
 plain. "Evening," said Toby, surlily, and passed on. 
 Sally gave a small grimace, a faint jerk of the head. 
 That was done. A few more days passed. Still in 
 the darkness she saw him a third time, now as she 
 closed the door of the room, while Toby hurried to the 
 floor above. By questions, she had found out that he 
 lived exactly over them, and that his aunt had the room 
 next to his, in the front of the house. This aunt she 
 never saw, as she was very exclusive, and did not as- 
 sociate at all with her neighbours. Toby's surname she 
 could not learn; but his aunt was called Mrs. Tapping. 
 The aunt had an annuity. Toby worked somewhere in 
 the neighbourhood; and Sally soon discovered the times 
 of his departure and return. She knew these so well 
 that she could have told you to the minute when his foot 
 might be expected upon the stairs. If he happened to 
 be late she could have remarked upon it to her mother, 
 if she had been in the habit of telling her mother any- 
 thing at all. 
 
 Later, when they had been in the house about three 
 weeks, she had a triumph. She was going out one eve-
 
 TOBY 29 
 
 ning, and was barely down the first two or three stairs 
 when she heard him running behind her. He was forced 
 to pull up, and, from a peep, she saw that he was still 
 half a flight above. Their progress from that instant 
 coincided. They reached the front door almost at the 
 same time. She left it open, and as Toby came out 
 she turned and smiled "good evening." He replied. 
 Sally followed with "Beautiful, isn't it!" and then went 
 slowly towards Tollington Park. Would he follow? 
 She was almost breathless, her eyes downcast, her ears 
 strained. He did not follow. Sally frowned. A sneer 
 came to her lips. Then a pensiveness succeeded, and 
 resolve became fixed. All right; he did not follow. He 
 was a man. All the more worthy of her address. 
 
 Moreover, she had noticed him more clearly than 
 ever before, because the gas in the hall had lighted his 
 face as she turned upon the threshold. He was strong, 
 and she adored strength. He was broad and muscular 
 and dark. He had dark eyes under heavy brows. His 
 age she supposed to be about twenty or slightly above. 
 As she recollected these details Sally's face became in- 
 scrutable. All the same, her walk had lost its savour, 
 and she returned home earlier than usual. How miser- 
 able it was that she had no other girl of her own age to 
 go about with. Boys always went in twos. So did 
 girls. The one gave the other courage. Yet Sally was 
 done with May. May was soppy. She did not, in 
 thinking this, do anything but envy May; but all the 
 same she knew that Toby's solitariness matched her own. 
 It was an augury. She lay awake until he came home, 
 listening to her mother breathing; and then, in a few 
 minutes, heard eleven o'clock strike.
 
 30 COQUETTE 
 
 vi 
 
 The next time this happened, and they met so definitely, 
 Toby looked sharply at her. Sally did nothing, but 
 paused an instant. He followed her with his eyes. Then, 
 he stepped to her side. It was the moment and Sally 
 stopped sharply, shrinking a little from him. 
 
 "Going out alone?" Toby said. "Mind if I come too?" 
 He walked beside her. "I mean . . . live in the same 
 house." 
 
 Oh, he had plenty of assurance. 
 
 "All right; you can come," Sally vouchsafed. She 
 was not going to show eagerness; but she was thrilling 
 with excitement. She moistened her lips, her nostrils 
 pinched and her eyes suddenly shrewd. She felt her 
 heart beating terribly in her breast, and was half the 
 calculating victor and half a genuinely shrinking young 
 girl engaged in her first serious exploit. 
 
 For a few moments both Toby and Sally were silent. 
 Everything depended upon the establishment of some 
 instant connection between them, for otherwise the 
 nerve of both might fail, and a fiasco result. Toby's 
 step hesitated, as though he was beset by an impulse to 
 leave her. Sally shot a quick glance. He was wavering, 
 and must be held. 
 
 "Nice night, isn't it?" she remarked, in a ladylike 
 way. 
 
 The inclination to fly was checked. Toby remained by 
 her side. They walked together about the streets for an 
 hour, he smoking cigarette after cheap cigarette, and 
 every now and then saying something that was nothing. 
 He was not a good talker. He could not express him- 
 self, but said "er" between words, and moved his hands. 
 Partly it was nervousness. Sally often grinned at knowl- 
 edge of this and of his bad way of speaking, which
 
 TOBY 31 
 
 made him sometimes appear almost loutish. But behind' 
 every roughness there lay a hidden strength that she 
 was ready to worship. She walked beside him with 
 steps quicker than his own, but a good swing; exulting 
 in their power to walk in unison, a thin little figure be- 
 side his stoutness, her large black straw hat hiding her 
 every expression except when she tilted up her head and 
 in the light of a street lamp showed a tiny white face. 
 Toby slouched along, one hand sometimes in a trouser 
 pocket, but more often with both hands in restless 
 motion. She could hear him : "I mean to say . . . these 
 yobs go about . . . penn'orth of chocolates and a drink 
 at the fountain. That's all the dinner they get. Wear 
 a tiddy little bowler hat and never brush their boots . . . 
 Office boys, they are; and call 'emselves junior clurks. 
 And what's it come to? I mean to say ... I'd rather 
 work with my hands, like a man. . . . What's the mat- 
 ter with a little dirt? Comes off, doesn't it?" 
 
 "Oo . . . yes . . ." sighed Sally, admiringly. 
 
 At last, pursuing this theme, Toby told her an anec- 
 dote about one of the other fellows at his work. Sally 
 listened with a breathless interest that was only half- 
 feigned. She wanted him to think she understood. 
 She wanted him to like her. She even wanted to sympa- 
 thise. It was such a mixture of feelings she had some 
 good, some mischievous and deliberate. All her vanities 
 were involved. Her nerves were taut with the strain of 
 such a show of absorption, while her mind ran on at 
 top speed. She asked pseudo-timid questions, just to 
 show her interest and her cleverness, and to encourage 
 Toby to keep on telling her things that threw light upon, 
 himself and his likes and dislikes. She walked delicately, 
 stifled yawns, interjected "fancy" and "there" as if she 
 understood all he said. She beguiled him. And all the
 
 32 COQUETTE 
 
 time, under the design, her heart was soft towards him, 
 soft and admiring. 
 
 They walked along the darkened streets at a slow 
 pace, and the passers were few. Once or twice they 
 encountered hushed couples, sometimes laughing groups. 
 Always Sally glanced stealthily, and summed up those 
 whom they saw; and had a tail glance for Toby. He 
 appeared to ignore everything, and slouched along at her 
 side, as he must have done when alone, with his head 
 lowered. She could not make him out. In some ways 
 he was so self-confident, in others so much as though 
 he had never looked at a girl before. Did he know 
 girls? Did he know what they were like? What a 
 mystery a delicious mystery! He wasn't soppy, yet 
 he hardly looked at her. Funny . . . funny! So she 
 mused; continuing to give his talk quite half her at- 
 tention. 
 
 At last ten o'clock struck, and, although both wanted 
 to stay out longer, Sally was prudent and firm. She 
 said "mother would wonder what had happened," and 
 laughed a little in her excitement, at the innuendo, and 
 in encouraging flattery. "Must go," she added, linger- 
 ing. So Toby took her back to the corner of their 
 road, it being a strict unspoken covenant that they should 
 not enter the house together, in case they should be seen. 
 There was no handshake; but Sally had the satisfac- 
 tion of seeing Toby awkwardly move the peak of his 
 cap in parting. That was ever so good, she thought. 
 Her hard scrutiny of his manner found as yet no cause 
 for suspicion, but only for a renewal of her curiosity 
 concerning him. Toby showed no sign of any feeling 
 beyond satisfaction with her, and this was an irresistible 
 flattery. She ran in, full of excitement.
 
 TOBY 33 
 
 vii 
 
 What was the truth about him? Sally's thoughts bit 
 into her observation with intense gusto. She turned 
 and twisted all her impressions during a couple of wake- 
 ful hours; and she remained full of glee. What a piece 
 of luck. Toby! Toby, Toby, Toby! How quickly her 
 mind worked ! It was like acid, testing and comparing ; 
 and yet its action was soft and caressing when she re- 
 membered his figure and his voice some of the little 
 gestures, some turns of speech, his sturdy contempt for 
 what he called "yobs," which she discovered to be the 
 word "boys" spelt in an unfamiliar way. Those were 
 the things she loved. The rest she had exploited. The 
 mixture of pleasure and tactics filled her with delicious 
 dread and hunger. 
 
 When the following evening came, Sally deliberately 
 waited until she heard Toby go out. Only after a delay 
 of five minutes did she put on her hat and coat in 
 opposition to her mother's command. What was mother ? 
 There was a faint flush on Sally's cheeks, and a new 
 sparkle in her eyes. She was engaged upon an ad- 
 venture. She dallied as she went down the stairs. At 
 the door she checked herself once more. What if he 
 were not there? To herself she said that she would not 
 mind ; but that was a lie which she told to her wits. Her 
 heart gave a different message. 
 
 How dark it was! At first Sally could see nothing. 
 The moon, if there was one, hid itself behind black 
 clouds. Only specks of light came from street lamps 
 and between the slats of Venetian blinds. A wind hustled 
 about, blowing up for rain, and uncomfortably draughty. 
 As Sally stood on the step the door slammed behind 
 her, and she heard a rattling run all through the house, 
 a banging of other doors and trembling of window-panes.
 
 34 COQUETTE 
 
 And then, as she lowered her head to meet the dusty 
 breeze, she felt Toby beside her, at her elbow, expect- 
 ant. Sally gave a start and a cry, for he had been so 
 silent in the midst of all these alarms as to come un- 
 expectedly. 
 
 "How you startled me!" she exclaimed coquettishly. 
 "Thought you'd gone out long ago !" 
 
 Toby gave a sort of half-confused laughing grunt. 
 
 "Hours ago I went out," he said, very close to her, 
 deliciously bold. 
 
 "Didn't think you'd remember ... I didn't say I'd 
 come . . . Have you been waiting?" Sally sounded 
 very nearly affected in her unplanned speech. Toby 
 answered with a sort of off-hand nonchalance. 
 
 "Only a minute. That's all right. I was afraid you 
 weren't coming." Afraid! What a lovely word! He 
 continued, with his hand quickly at her elbow: "Shall 
 we go round Fairmead?" 
 
 When he spoke as he was doing now, Toby's rough 
 voice dropped to a low note that he believed to be 
 gentle. It was in fact still vibrant ; but Sally liked every- 
 thing about his tone and his manner. It made her feel 
 that he was a man; and manliness was everything to 
 her. She longed while she was with him to meet May 
 ... to show her ... It would have given Sally fierce 
 joy. For the rest, she was content. He was by her side. 
 Their arms touched from time to time. When the wind 
 blew extra strong, she clutched him, and they stood to- 
 gether to resist the onset. And at every touch Sally had 
 fresh sense of strength and adventure. 
 
 "What you been doing today?" she asked, as talk 
 flagged. He told her. He told her a great deal more 
 about himself, and about his aunt. He had had the 
 most marvellous adventures. Sally could not believe 
 them all; but she was charmed by the narrative. Toby
 
 TOBY 35 
 
 talked more freely. He hesitated less, and was more 
 confident. Sally felt sure he must have known other 
 girls. You didn't talk like that if you were new to it. 
 She was again curious. Once she almost blurted out the 
 question; but she stayed the words in time. It would 
 have been a mistake to ask anything at this stage. It 
 would have seemed possessive. It might have alarmed 
 him. Anyway, she thought, if he has, what does that 
 matter ? To her it was an added pleasure, that he might 
 be wise and experienced. It was a greater flattery; it 
 called for greater resource in herself. 
 
 Once, when they had stopped and Sally had stood 
 close to him so that he might light a fresh cigarette under 
 the shelter of her body, Toby blew forth a puff of smoke 
 and put his arm round her. Very coolly did Sally free 
 herself, perfectly mistress of the situation; but she liked 
 him the better for his boldness. It was the sort of 
 thing she had df earned a lover who was ardent, a 
 lover who had to be repelled, so that the delight of ulti- 
 mate surrender should be fully savoured. Was he a 
 lover ? Sally shivered. The attempt and the rebuff made 
 them more intimate, as though an understanding had 
 been reached between them. They walked along elbow 
 to elbow, at first silent, and then talking freely, both 
 in good-humor and with continued interest. In the 
 safe darkness Sally's eyes glistened. The very faintest 
 smile made her mouth enigmatic. Already she carried 
 herself with fresh assurance. She was conscious of 
 her power, and altogether resolved to maintain it by 
 prudence. 
 
 viii 
 
 All this time Toby had never seen Sally in daylight. 
 He had seen her in a glimpse under the flickering hall 
 gas, and again from time to time in the shine of street
 
 36 COQUETTE 
 
 lamps; but he had never once been with her in daylight. 
 She herself was conscious of this, at first accidental, but 
 now deliberate, mystification; and she dreaded the dis- 
 closure that was bound to come. It was not, she knew, 
 that she was ugly; but only that to a man like Toby 
 her small face and sandy hair might mark her down and 
 ruin everything. She feared to notice a change in him, 
 a change from their present and increasingly confidential 
 relation to an indifference, a contempt, which she might 
 find unbearable. The feeling was acute. It was not 
 solely due to dependence upon Toby, but was a part of 
 her long-suffered self-disparagement and a fear, almost 
 fatalistic, that she could never keep a man's interest. 
 The fear grew more intense as she fell into the bitter- 
 sweets of a lover's doubtings. The day must come, and 
 then what would happen? She longed to twine herself 
 into his life before he could see her clearly. Perhaps 
 then he would not notice? Perhaps even now he knew, 
 and did not mind? 
 
 That was one mood. Another was a recognition of 
 her own piquancy. In this stronger mood, she concen- 
 trated upon her own prettiness, the slimness of her body, 
 her power to please him. But the confidence did not last, 
 because he had become a necessity to her. Having half- 
 determined to snare him, Sally was herself snared by 
 the gins of love. She was hard, but she was soft. She 
 was cold, but she was warm. And as each day she 
 used the sewing machine or roughly stitched the raw 
 material for Miss Jubb's costumes, Sally always looked 
 to the nights. When it rained, and she had to stay in- 
 doors, she chafed irritably and went early to bed. When 
 she met Toby she was full of unwonted high spirits. 
 For a long time she did not know what had happened 
 to her. Then at last the truth flashed out one morning
 
 TOBY 37 
 
 as she lay in bed, and with a little laughing sound Sally 
 knew that she was in love. 
 
 She was in love. And Toby, how did he feel? A 
 new stage had; been reached, when her caution was 
 directed to an altogether different end. She did not now 
 seek so coolly to play with his inclinations. She had 
 great need for care lest she should betray her own secret. 
 The occasional contacts with him had become an eager 
 need, and must be checked so as to make them appear 
 as accidental as they were deliberate. Sally was not 
 withholding from coquetry, but from dread lest she 
 should give herself away and show herself over-willing. 
 She noticed everything he did, without watchful scrutiny, 
 and with the merest quickness of her caressing glance. 
 She loved everything in him, his speech and his move- 
 ments, his strength, his stubbornness, his rough carriage 
 and silence. She loved him. She feared him. She did 
 not dare to risk losing him. Above all, she longed to 
 be in Toby's arms, to be desired by him. 
 
 Once, when she was examining her face in the mirror, 
 and trying to imagine just how pretty Toby might be 
 made to think her, Sally lost her nerve. She was tear- 
 ful all that day, tearful and speechless, so that a rebuke 
 from Miss Jubb brought about a real fit of crying. Miss 
 Jubb, astounded at such a collapse, instantly abandoned 
 blame and showed true kindness of heart, while May 
 Pearcey looked on with round saucer eyes above her 
 round apple cheeks. And Sally went home early, ashamed 
 of herself, once more irritable to viciousness, and spent 
 the time before her mother's return lying upon the bed 
 and trying to sleep. There was no walk that night. 
 Toby went out as usual, and even ventured a whistle 
 when she did not come; but Sally remained indoors. 
 She did not, indeed, hear the whistle, as she was at 
 the back of the house; but she knew he was waiting. She
 
 38 COQUETTE 
 
 dared not go. In half an hour she heard Toby return, 
 and go tramping indignantly up to his room directly 
 above. The sound made her cry more than ever, but 
 very quietly, in case her mother should hear and awaken. 
 
 The next night was even more wretched, for Toby 
 went out and was nowhere to be seen when Sally fol- 
 lowed him. She walked fruitlessly in the directions they 
 had taken upon previous evenings, and came back dis- 
 consolate and exhausted. Pale and ill, Sally could not 
 sleep. She had been living poorly, and her spirit was 
 low. The future was dismal. Toby must have thrown 
 her over. It was in vain that her wits consoled her 
 with the certainty that he must have missed her, that 
 a boy who did not care about her would never have 
 shown such surly pique as his. So great had her love 
 become that she could not listen to such reassurance. 
 Only the worst was convincing enough for her misery. 
 He was gone. He was done with her. She had lost 
 him. No wonder then when she was alone Sally's eyes 
 filled with weak tears. 
 
 Fortunately enough the next day was a Saturday, 
 and she was able to go alone up to Waterlow Park, 
 on Highgate Hill. She walked up the Holloway Road 
 alone, and saw the autumn sun flashing upon the cross 
 which stands erect above St. Joseph's dome. The air 
 was already murky with the heaviness of the season. 
 Leaves lay upon the ground and in the pathways. The 
 cable-cars grunted and groaned upon the hill, and the 
 Park looked bleak in the daylight. But the exercise did 
 Sally good, and she saw other people, and watched some 
 children playing touch until the Park bell rang to 
 show that the gates were going to be closed. Even then 
 she lingered, watching the moving figures and noticing 
 the greenness of the grass under the shrivelling leaves. 
 
 From that walk she returned more healthy and in
 
 TOBY 39 
 
 better spirits. She determined to go out marketing with 
 her mother in the evening, and walked back past the 
 flaring lamps, at which women were already crowding, 
 with her head in the air and her courage high. She 
 almost forgot Toby while she was bathed in this fluster- 
 ing brilliance of light and noise. Only far below, in 
 her heart, continued that inexhaustible consciousness of 
 her love. Even in this temporary oblivion she shivered 
 as she came to the darker part of the road. 
 
 Sally was once again among shops ; and then she went 
 down a side road. And her heart was beating rather 
 fast as she approached the house, in case Toby should 
 meet her. It was with a mingled relief and chagrin 
 that she reached the house alone. She was inside the 
 door now, and the woman on the ground floor was 
 just standing on a chair to light the gas. Sally had 
 to wait for a minute until she plunged heavily down 
 and dragged the chair aside. 
 
 "Oh," said the woman. "There's a letter for you. It's 
 just come. This minute." 
 
 It was not often that Sally had a letter. Had Toby 
 written to her? She pounced upon the envelope. Fancy 
 his doing that ! Oh, no. It was only from Aunt Emmy, 
 at Brixton. Well, perhaps Aunt Emmy knew somebody 
 in the West End. What could she have written about ? 
 
 "Is mother in, d'you know?" Sally asked the woman. 
 
 "I fancy . . . yes, I fancy she just went out. Shop- 
 pin', I expect. It's a nice evening. You know, what 
 I call crisp. Not that sort of muggy . . . ugh . . ." 
 She gave a great shudder, as the man in the fairy tale 
 did when his wife poured gudgeon upon him while he 
 slept. 
 
 Sally, threatened with a lengthy conversation, made 
 for the stairs. She reached their room, which was lighted ; 
 and so she knew that her mother would not be long.
 
 40 COQUETTE 
 
 A kettle was singing on a small fire of coal blocks, and 
 the teapot was laid to warm. Sally looked round the 
 room, guessed that her mother had gone out for tea 
 or sugar, and tore open her letter. In ugly crude writ- 
 ing she read the kind words Aunt Emmy had sent. 
 
 "Dear Sally. How are you and your mother? She 
 takes no notice when I write to her, so perhaps I'd bet- 
 ter start writing to you. Such news I've got. I've won 
 thirty-five pounds in a competition. I don't know how 
 I did it any more than you do. Anyway, Sally, I don't 
 want to forget my little niece, and so here's a little some- 
 thing for you. I'm giving the boys some, and buying 
 a new dress, and then I'm going to bank the rest against 
 a rainy day. Waste not, want not, you know. Don't tell 
 mummy I've sent you anything, but spend it on yourself, 
 love. Get a bit of something nice. Your affectionate 
 Aunt Emmy." 
 
 Enclosed was a postal-order for a pound. Sally's heart 
 seemed to stop beating for an instant. She looked again 
 at the postal-order, and with a sharp movement put it 
 inside her blouse. Then she put the letter in the fire, and 
 watched it flame and blacken and flick to pieces in the 
 draught. Slowly, thinking with all her might, she took 
 off her out-of-doors jacket and hung it up. A pound! 
 She was rich! With a pound you could do a lot. You 
 could . . . you could buy material for a frock. You 
 could buy underclothes, stockings, shoes. Not all of 
 them, but what you wanted. Or you could buy a hat 
 and sweets and scent and . . . oh, lots of things! A 
 whole pound to spend ! Slowly, slowly came Sally's mind 
 round to something from which it instantly darted away. 
 It crept back again. It seized upon her will. With a
 
 TOBY 41 
 
 pound you could . . . you could make your hair look 
 nice, and your face . . . 
 
 After the resolve, Sally was quite cool. She turned to 
 greet her mother with entire self-possession. But her 
 ears were strained, because overhead she heard a heavy 
 footstep. 
 
 ix 
 
 The thing determined, Sally was faced with a great 
 difficulty. She did not know how to do things. She 
 had to find out. You couldn't make a fool of yourself 
 and ask at a shop. She had talked to May once or 
 twice about . . . making your hair look nice . . . well, 
 dyeing it, if you wanted to know; and May could only 
 show her advertisements clipped from the Sunday paper. 
 She had not kept those advertisements : she had not liked 
 the look of them. Mother wouldn't know. She must do 
 it at once. A bold plan had come into her mind. She 
 was near the end of her second year with Miss Jubb. 
 She could go into the West End if only she looked 
 nice enough. If she could do it tonight or tomor- 
 row she could meet May Pearcey first thing on Mon- 
 day morning, get her to tell Miss Jubb Sally was ill, 
 and perhaps go after some situation during the day. 
 What a game ! But how was she to get the stuff ? That 
 was the difficulty. No, it was the easiest thing of all. Mrs. 
 Perce ! Mrs. Perce used peroxide, because she had once 
 been a barmaid. But that meant a long time. Sally must 
 have something quick in its action. Mrs. Perce would 
 know. Mrs. Perce knew everything of that kind. The 
 notion of going shopping with her mother was abandoned. 
 She had more important things to do. She would go 
 and see Mrs. Perce immediately after tea. Then, while 
 old Perce was playing the piano, she would get to know 
 everything. Sally became wildly animated. She
 
 42 COQUETTE 
 
 glimpsed the future. Transformed, she would conquer. 
 Toby would be won. She would be in the West End. 
 A whole new vista opened before her, glittering with 
 promise. Never had she been so excited, even when Toby 
 first spoke to her. 
 
 Mrs. Minto wearily threw off her dingy cloak and 
 raked the fire, so that the kettle began to boil. She 
 looked in a lethargic way at Sally, as a cat looks at a 
 stranger in whom it is not at all interested; and then 
 mechanically took down the tea-caddy from the mantel- 
 piece. As she stooped over the kettle there seemed to be 
 cramp in all her limbs. The little bell-pull of hair was 
 smaller than ever, and the hair itself was more grey. 
 Her whole bearing expressed a lifeless dejection. Pant- 
 ing faintly as the result of her late posture, Mrs. Minto 
 brought the teapot to the spotless table, and clumsily 
 touched the teacups and spoons so that they jarred upon 
 Sally's nerves. Everything her mother did now annoyed 
 Sally. The slow motions, the awkward way in which 
 her fingers turned to thumbs, the shortsightedness that 
 made her unable to thread a needle or read a paper 
 except through an old magnifying glass, the general air 
 of debility and discouragement. Sally felt furious with 
 her all the time "Old fool . . . old fool!" she would 
 frantically murmur to herself; and then would fall 
 again into despair at her own sensation of frustrate 
 youth. She had lost love for her mother, had no pity 
 to give in its place; and only awoke in these moments 
 of dreadful exasperation to the sense that she was still 
 dependent upon Mrs. Minto for her existence. During 
 this teatime, while her mother mutely ate bread and 
 margarine, Sally was away in the clouds, dreaming of 
 all that her windfall was to produce. It was to pro- 
 duce beauty, opportunity, happiness. So much for a 
 pound to do! Sally was so impatient to call on Mrs.
 
 TOBY 43 
 
 Perce that she could hardly eat anything or drink her 
 tea. 
 
 "You are worritting and fidgetting, Sally," cried Mrs. 
 Minto, peevishly. "Sit still, there's a good girl. I don't 
 know what's come to my 'ead. It feels all funny inside, 
 and if I put my hand there it's like I got a bruise. And 
 yet I don't remember knockin' myself anywheres, and 
 I can't understand it at all, because it's not as if I'd 
 taken anything to disagree with me; and yet there it is, 
 a nasty pain all inside my 'ead and a feeling as though 
 I'd got a bruise on the outside. I was telling Mrs. . . . 
 oh, dear, what is her name? . . . Mrs. . . . Roberson 
 about it, and she said that's what her 'usband used to 
 suffer from, and . . . he took . . ." 
 
 Sally ignored the rest of the speech. Her mother 
 rambled on; and Sally looked at the clock. She'd get to 
 Hornsey Road about six. That would be time enough. 
 There would be the Clancy kids playing in the doorway, 
 so she would go straight upstairs to Mrs. Perce; and 
 she would say . . . 
 
 Self-absorbed, both went mechanically on with the un- 
 appetising meal. Upstairs Toby walked once more into 
 his own room; and then came running heavily down the 
 stairs and past their door and then right down to the 
 street. Sally's heart was in a flutter, and her eyes flew 
 once again to the clock. It was so early for Toby to 
 be going out. She would not see him, then. She would 
 not see him, and all her excitement was gone like an 
 exploded toy balloon. The heart was taken out of her 
 enterprise. He was going out: he did not want her: 
 he was finished wfth her. Sally could not repress the 
 single sob that rose to her lips. 
 
 ". . . so I asked Mr. Flack if they'd ever kep' it, and 
 he said no, they never had, and told me to try at Boots's, 
 down by the Nag's Head . . ."
 
 44 COQUETTE 
 
 "Oh, mother'' cried Sally, beside herself. "Do shut up 
 about your head. It gives me the hump." Then, as she 
 became aware of what she had said, she defensively 
 proceeded. "Well, you keep on talking about it, and 
 it doesn't do any good to talk about it. If you want to 
 know, I'm ill myself. I've got a headache, and I've got 
 the rats . . ." 
 
 "You got no call to speak to your mother that way," 
 said Mrs. Minto. , "If I'd a spoke to my mother like that, 
 I should have got the strap. So mind that, Sally. It's 
 not nice. I've noticed you getting very unmannerly 
 and out of hand lately. Very rude. I don't know what 
 to do with you, you're so rude. It's not right, and it 
 worries me so that I can't think what I'm doing. I was 
 talking about it the other day to Mrs. Roberson, and 
 she says . . ." 
 
 "Yes, ma," said Sally, rising, and going to the door 
 to take her hat down from the peg. "She seems to have 
 got a lot to say. Doesn't seem to be much sense in 
 what she says." 
 
 "Now, you're not to . . ." By this time Sally had 
 one sleeve on and was feeling for the other. In a glance 
 at her little peaked determined face, and obstinate mouth, 
 Mrs. Minto's spirit suddenly failed. Where she had 
 meant to be maternally peremptory she became quer- 
 ulous. "Wherever you going now?" she asked weakly. 
 "Oh, you are a naughty wilful girl." 
 
 "Out," said Sally, bluntly. Unheeding the outcry that 
 followed, she was out of the door and down the stairs 
 before her mother could check her; and with a new ugly 
 sense of revolt was on her way to* see Mrs. Perce in 
 a mood of reckless despair. Left alone, Mrs. Minto 
 washed feebly up, and sighingly dried the cups and 
 plates and rearranged them in the cupboard. Presently 
 she sat in a limp curve over the fire, in a kind of
 
 TOBY 45 
 
 stupor, dreaming of she knew not what. Every now 
 and then she would give a jerk in anger at Sally's rude- 
 ness and recently uncontrollable highhandedness, which 
 recurred to her attention whenever her thoughts touched 
 reality. For the rest she sat motionless, until the coal- 
 blocks subsided and the fire went black. 
 
 Out in the dark streets, Sally was as if enveloped. 
 First she looked this way and that for Toby; but he 
 was gone. A wave of hysteria passed over her. She 
 hated him. She hated him for such loutish cruelty. He 
 didn't care. And because he did not care, although she 
 tried to feel indifferent, she loved him the more. Blindly 
 she walked away from the house, and heard the trams 
 grinding, and the rattle of carts over the rough paving. 
 Holloway Road at this point is at its worst dull and 
 ugly, with an air of third-rate respectable indigence. She 
 crossed the road, and passed into a squalid thoroughfare 
 called Grove Road, and marched past the ugly houses 
 with her head in the air, pretending that she had no 
 interest whatever in Toby. All her thoughts were busy 
 inventing indifference ; and her consciousness was at each 
 turn confusing and contradicting her thoughts. If soli- 
 tude had been possible to her, Sally would have cried ; but 
 as a rule she cried very little, both because she was rarely 
 alone and because she was not naturally hysterical. 
 Fighting, therefore, against what she felt to be weak- 
 ness, she proceeded on her way, trying to laugh at rival 
 butchers shouting insults and challenges across the 
 street. At the post office near her old home she changed 
 her open postal-order, and was given a half-sovereign 
 and ten shillings-worth of silver. This money she care-
 
 46 COQUETTE 
 
 fully put, in paper, inside her blouse. She was then 
 ready for her interview. 
 
 At the old address new tenants already occupied the 
 first floor flat, and Mr. Clancy stood at the gate smoking 
 his pipe. The man who lived in the ground floor flat 
 next door still showed his glass-covered sign "Why Pay 
 Rent?" Children littered the few inches of asphalt 
 which served as front garden to the two houses. Seeing 
 Sally, Mr. Clancy took his pipe out of his mouth, spat, 
 and nodded at her in a friendly way. 
 
 "Hello, Sally. Keepin' well? Look fine." 
 
 "I've come to see Mrs. Perce Mrs. Barrow, you 
 know." 
 
 Mr. Clancy jerked his head, receptive of the news, and 
 as Sally passed him continued to smoke and to regard the 
 traffic. He must have been bitterly cold, she thought; 
 but she knew he must be standing outside either be- 
 cause Mrs. Clancy was out or because she was in. The 
 stairs were just as steep as of old, and as dark. Sally 
 had absolutely no memory of her father's fall. She was 
 merely curious about the new people in the flat. But she 
 did not see them, for all the doors were closed, and she 
 kicked her feet against the stairs, stumbling a little in 
 the darkness. 
 
 At her further progress a door flew open above, and 
 Mrs. Perce looked out. 
 
 "Sally ! Well I never !" she ejaculated. "Perce ! Here's 
 Sally come to see you!" Perce's reply did not reach 
 Sally, but there was an exchanged kiss with Mrs. Perce, 
 and then her coat and hat were off and she was con- 
 scious of overpowering warmth and kippers and a gen- 
 eral sizzle of comfort and plenty. "Had your tea?" de- 
 manded Mrs. Perce. "Have another. Come on. Plenty 
 of kippers. Perce! Sally's eating your kippers!" 
 
 Perce appeared, rubbing the back of his neck with a
 
 TOBY 47 
 
 towel a large fair red- faced man with a broad grin. 
 He put his hand on Sally's shoulder, and shook her. 
 Then he went out of the room again, and Sally began 
 almost immediately upon the feast. It was such a jolly, 
 cosy, close room, so bright and gaudy in its decoration, 
 that it was Sally's idea of what a kitchen should be. 
 The walls were a varnished brown, so that they shone 
 in the lamplight. Polished candlesticks stood by a shiny 
 clock on the mantelpiece. There were bright pictures and 
 a brilliant lamp and a glittering tablecloth covered with 
 polished dishes and silver. She had a great admira- 
 tion for old Perce and Mrs. Perce. They both loved 
 comfort and food and drink, and both had hearty laughs 
 that showed all their teeth. Both had shrewd, glistening, 
 money-engrossed eyes; both were large and stout and 
 cheerful and noisy. To anybody as young as Sally noise 
 goes a long way towards cheeriness, because it deadens 
 thought. So when old Perce came and took his place 
 at the table she suddenly threw off her despair with the 
 volatility of childhood, and laughed aloud and ate and 
 drank, and made sly remarks, until she became an al- 
 together different Sally from the one who had taken 
 an earlier tea with her mother. She was now in high 
 spirits. All sorts of funny things came into her head 
 things she had seen and thought since their last meet- 
 ing; and when she repeated them the Barrows laughed 
 in great roars that filled her with conceited exultation. 
 It was so long since she had laughed. It was so long 
 since she had fed properly. This was like a dream, a 
 riotous dream of noise and colour. She looked from 
 old Perec's red face to Mrs. Perec's almost equally florid 
 cheeks, her eyes travelling like dragon-flies, as bright 
 and eager as possible. 
 
 And all *the time she was taking in Mrs. Perec's ap- 
 pearance. Mrs. Perce wore a black silk dress, very plain,
 
 48 COQUETTE 
 
 but well-cut. She had a gold brooch at her throat, and 
 a thin gold chain round her neck. Her hair was abun- 
 dant, and was dressed in a great blob upon the top of her 
 head. It was a noticeable colour, fair and startling. She 
 did not decorate her eyebrows and eyelashes, which were 
 darker than her hair. And she wore high corsets, be- 
 cause her bosom, although firm, was inclined to be over- 
 flowing. The bodice of her dress fitted closely and em- 
 phasised what was still a very shapely figure. She was 
 what would be called a fine woman. Her eyes were full 
 and clear; her lips were well-moulded; her teeth, rather 
 protruding, were unimpaired. Sally was filled with re- 
 newed envy of her personal advantages. Then her eyes 
 went back to Mrs. Perec's hair. It was too obviously 
 doctored. She didn't want anything like that. She 
 wanted something more delicate . . . 
 
 The truth flashed upon her. Mrs. Perce was a trifle 
 on the coarse side. Sally quickly compared Mrs. Perce's 
 plump hands with her own lean ones. At the scrutiny, 
 she put her hands below the table, for they were not 
 clean. But if they had been clean she would have taken 
 pride in them; for where the fingers of Mrs. Perce were 
 stubby her own were slim and pretty. She understood 
 her own shortcomings, but in the quick observations and 
 comparisons she had been making, Sally had learnt a 
 great .deal more clearly than ever before how careful she 
 must be to avoid exaggeration in all she did. Dressed 
 and adorned as Mrs. Perce was dressed and adorned, she 
 would have looked a guy. It was a new lesson to her, and 
 a valuable one. 
 
 "Have you noticed," said Mrs. Perce, "how me and 
 Perce's dressed up today?" 
 
 Sally was staggered. She looked quickly at old Perce 
 and saw that he was in his best clothes, with a lovely
 
 TOBY 49 
 
 new spotted blue and white tie, and a dahlia in his button- 
 hole. 
 
 "Of course," she said. "I noticed everything. Didn't 
 like to ask. What is it ? Is it your birthday ? Wish I'd 
 known," she added, half -truth fully. "I'd a brought you 
 a present." 
 
 "No," laughed Mrs. Perce. "Very good guess. Not 
 a birthday. It's the anniversary of our wedding-day. 
 Been married nine years, we have." 
 
 "Nine years!" echoed Sally, awestruck. "Nine years! 
 And you haven't had a baby yet !" 
 
 There was a startling guffaw. Old Perce slapped his 
 leg and bayed. Mrs. Perce threw herself back in her 
 chair, showing every brilliant tooth. The noise was tre- 
 mendous. 
 
 "The things she says !" shrieked Mrs. Perce. "Perce, I 
 always said that child was a caution !" They both laughed 
 until they were in an extremity of mirth. 
 
 Sally recognised herself as a wit, flushed, and laughed 
 as heartily as they. She had spoken incautiously, as a 
 child, and without sophistication. But she accepted re- 
 sponsibility for her joke. She was not in the least flur- 
 ried, but was pleased at being considered an adept in the 
 ways of marriage. At heart she was despising herself 
 for not having been more truly observant of their clothes, 
 because in reality she had been so concentrated upon Mrs. 
 Perce that she had never thought to spare an eye for Mrs. 
 Perce's husband. She was thankful to have ridden off 
 so easily upon her naivete. Meanwhile, having laughed 
 amply, the Barrows had resumed their tea. 
 
 "Nine years, eh!" said old Perce, reflectively. "Takes 
 some believing, Poll. Nine years. Nine years, and no 
 baby, eh!" He shook his head, like a cat sneezing, and 
 laughed again. "Here, Sally. Have some more kipper. 
 More tea, then. Poll, here's a lady will have some more
 
 50 COQUETTE 
 
 tea, if you please, ma'am. Sweet enough, Sally? As 
 before, if you please, Poll." 
 
 "See, where was you then, Perce?" asked Mrs. Perce. 
 "Nine years ago." 
 
 "This time nine years ago " murmured old Perce, 
 
 reflectively. "I was at Potter's. Yes, Sally, I waddn't 
 makin' above two pound a week when I got married 
 if that. Two pound a week was about my top-notch in 
 those days. Well, it's different now." He shrugged his 
 shoulders. "And I'll tell you for why, Sally. It was Poll, 
 there. Don't you forget it. If a man's got a good wife 
 say there's something in him he'll end his days in com- 
 fort. She'll see to that. Now, the man you marry " 
 
 "Here, Perce ! Steady on !" cried Mrs. Perce. "Sally's 
 not seventeen yet, remember." 
 
 "Wait!" Old Perce directed a finger. Sally was 
 brimming with gladness, at the topic and the confidence 
 in herself which she saw he was going to express. "The 
 man you marry, Sally he'll have to be a man. Under- 
 stan' what I mean? None of these fine la-di-da fellows, 
 but a Man. And if he works, you save. Not to 
 scrape, you understand. Just save. For the first five 
 years, be careful. Have your fun. No harm in that. But 
 be careful. No kids. No swank. Stability, that's what's 
 wanted. Stability. If you've got a bit of money behind 
 you See what I mean ?" 
 
 "Oo yes, Mr. Barrow," said Sally, incoherent with 
 pride. "That's just what I think." 
 
 Old Perce looked at Mrs. Perce, raising his shoulders 
 as if to exhibit Sally to her. There was a nod between 
 them. For some time all became rather thoughtful, per- 
 haps thinking as she was uncontrollably doing of 
 Sally's future. Old Perce took out his pipe at last. 
 
 "I'm just going to step in the other room, Sally," he 
 remarked, "and have a pipe and a bit of a tune. I'll see
 
 TOBY 51 
 
 you later you ladies," he added gallantly, with a bow. 
 And then he withdrew, leaving them alone, with Sally's 
 cheeks flushed at the warmth and the subject they had 
 been considering. All the time old Perce had been talking 
 she had been wishing that Toby had been there to hear. 
 Then he'd have seen what these people thought of her. 
 They didn't think of her face; they didn't go off in a 
 huff because she had been too ill to go out one evening. 
 They knew. . . . Tears filled her eyes. She stared at the 
 red fire in the grate. Mrs. Perce had her back turned, 
 filling the kettle for the inevitable washing-up, and so she 
 did not see this sudden arrival of tragic reflection. All 
 she saw was a willing Sally gathering the dishes and 
 scraping the fishbones together ready for throwing behind 
 the fire. How was Mrs. Perce to visualise that other 
 tea, that lonely figure in the other room? How was any- 
 body to understand why Sally was so different from what 
 she had been at home ? 
 
 Over the washing-up, the two became confidential. 
 Sally broached the subject of the West End. She dilated 1 
 upon it. Mrs. Perce was all sympathy, and full of agree- 
 ment. 
 
 "You're quite right," she said. "And I'm glad. I 
 wish I could help you. Now, can I?" She thought a 
 moment. "Wait a bit. Wait a bit." 
 
 She went out of the room. Amid the din of "There 
 you are, there you are, there you ain't ain't ain't," 
 Sally heard her call: "Perce, what's the name Maggie 
 Merrick calls herself now?" There was a silence. The 
 door of the other room was closed. Sally, standing by the 
 kitchen table, drying a plate, strained her ears unavail- 
 ingly. A silence was upon the flat. Only the fire huskily 
 caved in, and little darting sparks flew into the air. It 
 was as though her life hung suspended. Then, in a few 
 minutes, Mrs. Perce returned, a triumphant beam upon
 
 52 COQUETTE 
 
 her face. "You go and see Maggie on Monday," she said. 
 "I'll write her a letter. She calls herself Gala Madame 
 Gala. Got a place round behind Regent Street, and about 
 twenty hands. She's a very old friend of mine. . . . I'll 
 give you a letter tonight. Just say you come from Polly 
 Barrow. She'll see you. Course, I can't be sure. . . ." 
 
 "No, no !" Sally's concurrence was eager. Her heart 
 was like a flame. "You are kind to me, Mrs. Perce." 
 
 "If I can help you, Sally . . . Mrs. Perce's voice took 
 on a tone of kindness almost solemn. "Well, that's all 
 right. Just wait till these things are washed." 
 
 Trembling, Sally introduced her other problem. At 
 first Mrs. Perce gave a great laugh, and looked very 
 sharply at Sally. She looked at her dress, at her face, at 
 her hair. 
 
 "I don't want to look . . ." 
 
 "It wouldn't help you to look made-up. Not with Mag- 
 gie. So there is a boy !" 
 
 "No !" Sally's tone was fierce. 
 
 "Oh, all right." Mrs. Perce was evidently not alto- 
 gether convinced. She dried her hands, her head con- 
 sideringly upon one side. 
 
 "Who'd look at me ?" There was a vain effort in this 
 speech to corroborate the disclaimer; but there was also 
 an ingenuous and pathetic appeal for some sort of reas- 
 surance, for this was Sally's hidden fear. 
 
 "Don't be a fool, Sally. If a girl makes up her mind to 
 have a man . . ." 
 
 Sally's heart leapt. She looked with shining eyes of 
 glory at Mrs. Perce. It was the announcement of her 
 dream, a confirmation of her hope. She was for a mo- 
 ment ecstatic. 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Perce!" 
 
 "You just look at him like that, my dear. VVll, I'll
 
 TOBY 53 
 
 tell you . . . You don't want to look too fresh. Don't 
 use peroxide. Henna's the stuff for you." 
 
 "Henna! How much?" Sally was desperate. The 
 word was open sesame to her. 
 
 "Wait a bit. I'll think. Henna. And a face cream. 
 But mind, Sally, be careful. Not too much of it. And 
 whatever you do, remember your neck. You don't see 
 it; but others do. All that's above your dress. And a 
 bit below. Some people are inquisitive. And just a bit 
 of lip salve just a tinge. See, your lips aren't red enough. 
 But you've got to be on the watch not to overdo it. No 
 good looking like a tart." 
 
 "No. It's just the hair and the freckles," breathed 
 Sally. 
 
 "Oh, well . . . We'll make a picture of you. And the 
 eyebrows, Sally. But only a bit, Sally. Only a bit. 
 You've got to be moderate. . . ." 
 
 Mrs. Perce went off into a delighted silence. She was 
 in her element. She had before her a great opportunity, 
 and all her vanity was roused. They understood one 
 another. And for all Sally's disclaimer Mrs. Perce was 
 in no way deceived about her ultimate object. She was 
 as aware of Toby as if she knew the facts. But she was 
 too shrewd to force a confidence. To herself she was 
 laughing with the full enjoyment which some women, if 
 not most of them, bring to the contemplation of an. in- 
 trigue and its ultimate consequences. Later, she resolved 
 to add a word of warning upon the handling of that sub- 
 ject. But more thought encouraged her to be silent. 
 There was that in Sally's bearing which gave Mrs. Perce 
 to understand that in the long run Sally knew what she 
 was about. Mrs. Perce was conscious of a smart feeling 
 of admiration for this child.
 
 54 COQUETTE 
 
 xi 
 
 Clasping tightly the precious henna and her other pur- 
 chases, Sally hurried home through the dark streets. 
 Within her blouse was the letter to Madame Gala. Her 
 head was full of her plans, her delighted anticipations of 
 victory. For this moment she could not contemplate the 
 possibility that all would not go well. She was intoxi- 
 cated. Her heart was swelling. Thoughts galloped away, 
 like steam from a boiling kettle. She kept no memory of 
 them. It was enough for her that she was thrilled with 
 her own prospects. Of course Mrs. Perce's friend would 
 take her on. Of course Toby would fall in love with her. 
 She could make him. Once let her achieve her immediate 
 objects, and there was no end to future possibilities. How 
 strange, how wonderful, the difference which the last few 
 hours had made to her! It really seemed true for once 
 that in the darkest hour dawn was most nearly at hand. 
 She let herself into the house and crept up the stairs, sub- 
 dued but exultant. It would now have taken much more 
 than the coldness and darkness of the horrible room to 
 spoil her excited happiness. She even welcomed them, 
 because if her mother awoke there would be the less need 
 for explanations. She* stood a candle upon the washstand, 
 screened from the bed, and lighted the oil stove which 
 they always used for preparing the breakfast. Her pur- 
 chases were carefully arrayed, and then hidden. She re- 
 moved her outer clothes, and let down her hair, shivering 
 slightly, but tense with resolve and the absorption of the 
 moment. Round her shoulders she hung a big towel, and 
 kicked it out, looking down at her legs and feet. She 
 was conscious of pride, of physical freedom. She made 
 small dancing steps, as happy as a child, while she waited 
 and waited for the slow kettle to boil. 
 
 Later, Sally stole to bed, careful not to touch her sleep-
 
 TOBY 55 
 
 ing mother, lest her own chill body should awaken her 
 and provoke a querulous scene. She was shuddering from 
 head to foot. It seemed to take hours to shake off the 
 frozen feeling, and if she raised her feet and touched 
 them with her hands they were like pieces of ice. They 
 were still cold when she forgot everything; and she 
 awoke, the towel still about her head, with the sun up 
 and the day well advanced. A careful hand to her hair, 
 a quick scurry to the mirror, a leap of apprehensiveness ; 
 and then she was back in bed, shamming sleep, because 
 her mother had stirred. The two lay side by side for ever 
 so long, until Sally could once again allow herself to 
 breathe freely. She did not examine her feelings: she 
 only knew that she was afraid and confident, alternately 
 timid and ashamed, and then again breathing deep with 
 satisfaction. She had begun. She was set out upon her 
 adventure. At a blow she had to put everything to the 
 test. How she longed for the next day ! How she longed 
 for her interview with Mrs. Perec's friend, and for her 
 next encounter with Tobv ! 
 
 xn 
 
 At night she allowed her mother to go to bed first, and 
 waited a little while before beginning her preparations. 
 She was so long that her mother, although still engrossed 
 by the pain in her head, began to grumble. 
 
 "What you doing, Sally?" she cried sharply. 
 
 "Washing my hair," answered Sally, like a shot 
 
 "Ought to have done it in daylight, silly girl. And 
 dried it in front the fire. I don't know what's come to 
 you, Sally. You seem to do everything you can to worrit 
 me. Now I want to go to sleep, and you keep the lamp 
 burning, and the fire burning, and it's all alight, so I can't 
 get off."
 
 56 COQUETTE 
 
 Sally shaded the lamp. Her lip was curled. She did 
 not deign to answer the complaint. Silly old fool ; always 
 grumbling! Let her wait. Let her wait and see what 
 happened ! Sally was less excited, and less clumsy, to- 
 night. She was warmer, too; and that gave her more 
 assurance. Once her mother had fallen asleep, as she 
 knew from the loud breathing, she became leisurely. Her 
 actions were even luxurious, so much more at ease was 
 she. First of all she combed her hair, wishing it were 
 longer. Then she made all her dispositions. For the 
 next hour she was busy, and by the time she was in bed 
 she had begun to giggle almost hysterically. She lay quite 
 still, and quite warm, listening for some sound of Toby. 
 But none came. Wherever he was, she did not hear him 
 before she went to sleep. 
 
 And then in the dark morning her mother could not see 
 the transformation that had occurred ; and Sally could not 
 see it, either. They made a slow and tasteless breakfast, 
 and Mrs. Minto slipped out to her first situation, where 
 she had to be at half-past seven. From that she would 
 go on to another at half -past ten that would keep her for 
 the greater part of the afternoon. Sally, instead of going 
 back to bed, as she often did when the two breakfasted 
 together, dressed herself with great care and prepared to 
 go out and meet May Pearcey. She tried to see herself 
 in the mirror, but could only get a lamp-light view that 
 frightened her. She had washed very carefully, and as 
 she had made her own dress it fitted well and suited her. 
 She had a big black hat and was going to get new gloves 
 before calling upon Madame Gala. Her shoes were bad, 
 but she brushed them well. Stockings she had bought 
 on Saturday night. Turning round and round before the 
 mirror, extending her arms, and patting down her skirt, 
 she was content with everything but the incalculable ef- 
 fect of her recent activities. But the part of her hair
 
 TOBY 57 
 
 which showed beneath her hat was a rich shade, and if 
 her face looked artificially pale it still appeared smooth 
 and fresh. 
 
 What doubt she may have had was set at rest by May 
 Pearcey when they met. The encounter took place in 
 Grove Road at the corner of Hornsey Road, just where 
 the shops are; and the two girls walked westward to- 
 gether. 
 
 "Oo, Sally, you do look smart!" May irrepressibly 
 cried. "Oo, what you bin doing to your hair! Looks 
 lervly! Oo, and your face. Got off with a earl?" 
 
 She was all attention at Sally's tale, and Sally showed 
 her the letter to Madame Gala. They stood together 
 reading it. For the moment May was honestly full of 
 congratulation. She was so simple-minded, and so little 
 attached to the dressmaking, that she had no envy. A 
 boy would have been a different matter. And she was 
 honestly delighted with Sally's appearance. 
 
 "You look lervly!" she kept saying. "Oo, I do hope 
 you get it. I say, come out 's evening, and tell me. Will 
 you ?" May was very coaxing indeed. She was sincerely 
 impressed. 
 
 It was a compliment, as well as a curiosity. Sally hesi- 
 tated. She had planned to see Toby; but if Toby was 
 going to be a lout she might just as well show him she 
 didn't care. 
 
 "All right," she said. "Look here, if I'm not there 
 by half-past seven, you'll know I've been kept mother's 
 kept me. See?" 
 
 "Mother !" laughed May. "Well, I'll be there quarter- 
 past. See ! Shouldn't come any further, case old Mother 
 Jubb's lookin' out the window. She might not believe 
 you was ill if she saw you lookin' so smart. Might think 
 you was takin' a day off to go to the Zoo." 
 
 They parted, May Pearcey to spin a tale of Sally's ill-
 
 58 COQUETTE 
 
 ness to Miss Jubb, and Sally to proceed, after getting a 
 pair of black cotton gloves, to the West End. In the 
 shop, half hidden among the rolls of flannel and little 
 racks and trays of smaller articles of haberdashery, there 
 was a full-length strip of mirror. It stood gloomily in the 
 half-light of the shop, which, like all suburban drapers' 
 shops, had the air of a crowded and airless cavern 
 full of stale adornments. Sally did not see the mirror at 
 first, but while the shop girl went to fetch the gloves, she 
 was looking idly round when she caught sight of a slim 
 young lady in black. The young lady was very trim, 
 dressed all in black, with slim ankles and pretty hands, 
 and a big black hat and it was herself ! Herself, looking 
 like a lady. Quickly, she stepped to the mirror, examining 
 her cheeks, her neck, her brows, and her gloriously richly- 
 tinted hair. She was amazed and delighted. A proud 
 smile twisted her thin little lips, so slightly touched with 
 Lipsol that they did not seem to have been touched at all, 
 but only to be prettier than usual. After the first curi- 
 osity, the first flush of recognition, followed precise scru- 
 tiny. Sally nodded to herself. She would do. There was 
 no doubt of it. From that moment she was no longer 
 triumphant or excited: she was sure. She had learnt a 
 great lesson, that excitement is no criterion of victory or 
 happiness, and that the artist is cool, confident, free from 
 triumph. At a bound, Sally had become an artist. She 
 had always been potentially an artist ; but she at last had 
 attained vision. 
 
 xiii 
 
 Precious pennies went to pay her tram fare to Totten- 
 ham Court Road ; and from there she walked to Madame 
 Gala's, asking the way, and getting rather flustered and 
 bewildered at the pushing crowds and the big shops with 
 their irresistible windows, and the extraordinary amount
 
 TOBY 59 
 
 of traffic that seemed to make Oxford Street one continu- 
 ous torrent of carts and omnibuses. The big furniture 
 shops in Tottenham Court Road had impressed her; but 
 the shops in Oxford Street were beyond anything 1 she 
 ever remembered to have seen. A flash of comparison 
 with Holloway even with Jones's magnificent row of 
 shops on the way to Highbury, or the big drapers and 
 clothiers in the Upper Street made her realise how right 
 had been her longing for the West End. It had been 
 more than a dream. It had been an inspiration. Hollo- 
 way was seen in its dinginess, its greasy mud on the rough 
 roads, the general air it had of being a step or two behind 
 the times; and here was the brilliance, the enthralling 
 reality, of the West to take its place. Sally was conscious 
 of new buoyancy. If she had been pleased with Totten- 
 ham Court Road, and delighted with the essentially com- 
 monplace Oxford Street, she exulted in that alluring curve 
 which will always make Regent Street a fascination for 
 :he visitor to London and even a satisfaction to the Lon- 
 doner himself. Sally was both a Londoner and a visitor, 
 and her feelings were proportionate. She did not know 
 that she was proud of being London born and bred; but 
 her eye was possessive, and she would not have given 
 London in exchange for the dozen other great capitals 
 of the world put together. She looked round at the shops, 
 at the buildings and the traffic; and she made a historic 
 remark. 
 
 "Cooh," she said. "Fine! Fancy living here! This 
 is the place for me." 
 
 It was final. It took no account of the risks of a per- 
 adventure. Madame Gala was a mere cog in the great 
 wheel of Sally's progress through life. Even Toby had 
 at first no place in her survey. Then she wondered if he 
 knew Regent Street. He could come one Saturday and 
 wait for her outside Madame Gala's. They would swank,
 
 60 COQUETTE 
 
 and go and have tea at an A. B. C. or Lyons's ; and per- 
 haps go into Hyde Park. Gradually it came back to her 
 that her father used to take them to Hyde Park on Sun- 
 days. But that was long ago, and on Sundays the traffic 
 was less and the shops were all shuttered. She gave a sigh 
 at the memory, awoke, and marched up to a colossal po- 
 liceman who was wagging a pair of gloves in his right 
 hand as if to keep the flies away, but in reality to en- 
 courage the traffic. He inclined an ear, and an eye to her 
 letter, and trumpeted out directions. 
 
 And at last Sally reached Madame Gala's, and with 
 Madame Gala's another turning-point in her life. It was 
 the first time she had been conscious of so all-important 
 an event. When she came to the building she was trem- 
 bling. Her eyes closed, almost in an expression of prayer. 
 She took five minutes to climb the stairs to the second 
 floor, and then turned to fly. She recovered, and hung 
 about for a while, hoping for some accident to carry her 
 right into the place. Then, with a feeble air of confi- 
 dence, she pushed open the door and walked in without 
 knocking. 
 
 Sally could have fallen down in horror; for as she 
 entered she saw a very tall young woman talking to the 
 most beautifully dressed person she had ever seen. And 
 they were in a room such as Sally had never been in be- 
 fore a room entirely decorated in a sort of grey-blue. 
 .Wallpaper, hangings, and chair-upholsterings were ex- 
 actly uniform. The effect, although beautiful and rest- 
 ful, was to Sally's eye so sumptuous that she felt she 
 must by some terrible mischance have come into a draw- 
 ing-room. But she heard the young woman say, "Yes, 
 rneddam . . . I'll tell Madame Gala . . . Yes, meddam 
 . . . Yes, meddam . . . quite . . . yes, I quite . . . 
 Good morning, meddam." And then as the wonderful 
 creature disappeared in a whirl of richness, like a fairy
 
 TOBY 61 
 
 godmother, the tall young woman turned almost pounc- 
 ingly upon Sally, and in a contemptuous voice said 
 "Yes?" 
 
 Sally shook herself. It was the gesture of one who has 
 been dreaming. 
 
 "I want to see Madame Gala," she said, very distinctly. 
 "I've got a letter for her from Mrs. Barrow." 
 
 "Where is it?" demanded the young woman. "That 
 it?" 
 
 She took from Sally's unwilling but unresisting hand 
 the letter which Mrs. Perce had written, pulled it from 
 the open envelope, read it, and looked again at Sally. 
 
 "I want to see Madame Gala," said Sally, stubbornly. 
 Her little mouth was now very savagely set, and if there 
 had been any refusal upon the young woman's part there 
 would have been a scene. 
 
 "All right. Keep your hair on," said the inquisitive 
 young woman. "Are you Miss Minto?" 
 
 "Yes, I am." Sally nodded energetically, flushing. She 
 wondered if the word "hair". . . 
 
 Her interlocutor turned, and went into an inner room, 
 replacing the letter as she did so, and folding over the 
 flap, so that it would seem as though she knew nothing of 
 the contents. Sally quickly saw the kind of person she was 
 an interfering creature, with "Miss Pry" written all 
 over her. She was tall and thin, and had gooseberry eyes 
 and a small nose and a large sycophantic mouth. Sally 
 had a picture of her all the time she was away grey-blue 
 dress and all. She didn't like her. She hated her. She 
 knew that they would never get on together. Miss Nosey ! 
 "Yes, meddam; no, meddam . . . yes, I quite . . ." 
 Sally tried to pronounce quite "quaite," as she had done. 
 After all, she was only a sort of maid somebody to take 
 the names of callers. She'd got no right to be saucy. Old 
 six-foot. Old match-legs. She'd got a nose in every-
 
 62 COQUETTE 
 
 body's business. Mind she didn't get it pulled ! . . . But 
 what a lovely room ! Must have cost pounds and pounds ! 
 All grey-blue even to the little ornaments on the mantel- 
 piece, all except the black tiger. Fancy working in a place 
 like this! Different to Miss Jubb's! Sally gave a sort 
 of internal giggle, a noiseless affair that was almost just 
 a wriggle of delight. Miss Jubb ! Did you ever see any- 
 thing like the dress she made for Mrs. Miller, of 17 Tavi- 
 stock ! Chronic, it was ! Like a concertina ! And poor 
 old Annie Jubb getting flurried when the material frayed 
 in the scissors! Cooh! Call her a dressmaker! More 
 like a figure of fun! 
 
 "Come in, please," said Nosey, jerking her nose. And 
 Sally started once again from reverie, to follow the tall 
 young woman from the grey-blue room into another one 
 which was all in a warm colour between orange and 
 biscuit. She swallowed quickly, and heard a little runnel 
 of moisture in her dry throat. There was a throbbing 
 behind her eyes. She became very small and clumsy, and 
 kept her head lowered, and her hands clasped. 
 
 When a voice bade her sit down, Sally stole a quick 
 glance at Madame Gala. At once she lowered her eyes 
 again, because they had met unexpectedly a pair of eyes 
 more disconcerting than any she had known since her 
 schooldays. Madame Gala did not employ a score of 
 hands for nothing ! She had looked at Sally the moment 
 Sally came into the room, and did not cease to look at 
 her. And she had very cold grey eyes, and was very cold 
 (really very deficient in stamina) herself. She was ter- 
 ribly thin, and chilling, and capable. She was dressed in 
 grey ; but you could not see the dress except at the bottom 
 of the skirt and the middle of the sleeves, because she 
 wore a large pinafore-overall, of a lighter grey and a 
 softer material. She had no pins in her mouth, and there 
 were no pictures of costumes or sheets of paper patterns
 
 TOBY 63 
 
 to be seen. But the room, all the same, was a work-room, 
 and there was a beautiful large table in it which could 
 have served for cutting out a costume for a giantess. 
 
 "You're Miss Minto. How old are you? Hn, small 
 for your age. Mother and father? When did your oh, 
 you're in mourning for him. How did he die? What 
 sort of accident? Hn . . . What experience have you 
 had ? Miss What? Oh, yes . . . two years. Have you 
 left? I see. Well, Mrs. Barrow's an old friend of mine, 
 and I'd like to oblige her. Also, I want more help. My 
 business is increasing. If you can start in a fortnight 
 I'll pay you six no, I'll pay you seven shillings a week. 
 You get here at nine in the morning. You'll do as you're 
 told, and behave yourself. You'll work under a very 
 clever lady, Miss Summers, in that room. I'll show you. 
 Come in here ..." 
 
 Sally, shaking with jubilation, followed her into a very 
 large room adjoining, where a number of girls were (ap- 
 parently) frantically busy far too busy to be conscious 
 that their employer had entered the room. Sally did not 
 believe that they were always so intent upon their work. 
 She knew too much. To herself she said "Swank!" It 
 was a beautifully light place, all decorated in a pale grey; 
 and there was a long deep bench all round the room. It 
 was lighted by windows and a skylight, and it was plain 
 that a considerable amount of work was in progress. 
 Sally gave a dazed glance round, and looked again, say- 
 ing, "Yes, ma'am; Yes, ma'am," to everything Madame 
 Gala said ; and a few minutes later was out in the street 
 again, engaged at seven shillings a week, and not knowing 
 whether she was alive or dead, awake or dreaming. The 
 day was still before her; she had nearly ten shillings hid- 
 den in her bodice ; and she was a queen amid all the surg- 
 ing traffic of the West End her West End the place 
 of her dreams, her pilgrimage, her triumph. Sally's eyes
 
 64 COQUETTE 
 
 were filmed with tears. She walked away from the build- 
 ing passionately fighting with sobs that rose from deep 
 within her. The tears trickled down her white cheeks. 
 And all at once she was laughing again, chuckling and 
 chuckling as if this was the most splendid joke in the 
 world. And then, when the laughter was done, she was 
 once again Sally, deliberate, cool and unflinching. This 
 was what she had determined. There were other steps 
 to follow. She must not be too sure; she must go care- 
 fully. But all the same she would win. She was 
 Sally. She was going to get on. She was going to be 
 cautious. She was going to be secure. That was her 
 touchstone security. Without it, she would never know 
 peace. At all costs, security. That meant keeping cool. 
 That meant watching your step. And in the end it meant 
 making money, and having enough to eat, and nice 
 clothes, and pleasures, and all that she had never yet had. 
 Into the eyes that had been brimming with tears, and, 
 immediately after, with glee, there came once again a 
 hardness, a determination. It was the expression of a 
 wary animal, treading among dangers. 
 
 xiv 
 
 By an instinct, Sally turned west, so that she presently 
 found herself in a confusing number of small streets ; but 
 when she had extricated herself and had mastered the 
 geography of that part of London she was rewarded by 
 coming out into Park Lane, with the fine breadth 
 of Hyde Park open to her eyes and her impulse towards 
 exploration. She pretended that she knew the Park ; but 
 in fact to her older eyes and in its weekday freedom from 
 crowds it looked so different that she could not link it 
 with ancient memories. Thus, for a time, its paths and 
 its greenness and its air of great space gave her unquali-
 
 TOBY 65 
 
 fied pleasure. She wandered on, observing the fallen 
 leaves, and the few pedestrians ; and looked up at the blue 
 sky, and marvelled to herself; and then presently she sat 
 down upon one of the public seats and tried to get some 
 coherence into her thoughts. She sat there for some 
 time, her shabby little toes cocked up on the gravel before 
 her, and she began to feel lonely and tired and restless, 
 as though something further had still to be done. There 
 was the whole day before her. She could not stay here, 
 because although the day was clear and fine there was a 
 chill wind, and she was not warmly clad. Already her 
 hands were feeling numb in the cotton gloves, and her 
 feet were losing the pleasant tired tingle they had had a 
 short time before. The sense of innumerable hours which 
 had to be filled was strong upon Sally, who had never 
 previously had so much time to herself, alone. So she 
 rose briskly from her seat, walked along the broad path- 
 way, and came back to the Marble Arch, where Oxford 
 Street began again. This time she was bent upon looking 
 at the shops, and browsed for a time at the windows of 
 Lewis's, at the end of Orchard Street. And then she had 
 her inspiration. A clock told her it was after half-past 
 eleven. May's words came into her mind: "She might 
 think you was takin' a day off to go to the Zoo." 
 
 "Here, where's the Zoo," she suddenly, without a 
 tremor, asked a policeman. 
 
 "They got plenty white mice," the policeman said. "No 
 good you a-goin' there." 
 
 "Saucy!" rebuked Sally. "Suppose they let you out 
 ... on a chain." 
 
 "Quite right," said the policeman. "Didn't want to let 
 me go. Everybody loved little Sammy. But the Police 
 Force wanted me." 
 
 "Fancy wanting you!" remarked Sally, witheringly, 
 staring at his good-tempered face, and, under his helmet,
 
 66 COQUETTE 
 
 at a pair of bright blue eyes. He was a "red" man. 
 "Give 'em a bit of ginger, I suppose." 
 
 "As you go by the Marrabon Road, you just cross over 
 and go into Madame Tussaud's. You'll see a lot of old 
 friends and relations there. Charlie Peace, and Mother 
 Dyer . . ." 
 
 "Who's she?" Sally demanded. "Mother Dyer. 
 Never heard of her." 
 
 "Mother Dyer? Baby-farmer. Her you used to call 
 'Nursie.' Go straight along here, and when you've looked 
 at Madame Tussaud's, keep down the Marrabon Road till 
 you come to the Park. See? Regent's Park, that is. 
 And walk along the nice broad road, and you'll find the 
 Zoo on your left. Good morning, my dear . . . Don't 
 let 'em keep you, will you? . . . Cahm alahng, 'ere ; cahm 
 alahng, 'ere." He broke off to attend to the traffic, which 
 he addressed in a very different way from that in which 
 he had spoken to Sally; and she, rather cheered by the 
 exchange of badinage, set off towards Baker Street and 
 the Marylebone Road with a new interest in hand. Ma- 
 dame Tussaud's and the Zoo in one day ! What a day it 
 would have been by the time she reached the end of it. 
 What a tale she would be able to tell May in the evening ! 
 
 Apart from the two visits which she made, to the wax- 
 works and the menagerie, both of which took so long that 
 she did not get home until six o'clock, Sally had no other 
 adventure. She had lunch in the Zoo, and arrived back 
 in Holloway with less than five shillings remaining from 
 her windfall. But it had been a day, and it still held 
 marvellous possibilities of an encounter with Toby. Her 
 first thought on reaching home was of him. That was 
 why she was so deaf to her mother's complaining. She 
 did not hear it. And she did not tell her mother of the 
 day's outing. There would be time for that later. If 
 she told her now there would only be trouble, and Sally
 
 TOBY 67 
 
 was tired of trouble. When she had explained to Miss 
 Jubb, and had left Miss Jubb on Saturday week, she 
 would airily say to her mother: "I got a job in the West 
 End, now." See ma jump ! Sally was conscious for the 
 first time of a slightly sinking heart. Suppose she didn't 
 suit Madame Gala? Suppose she lost her new job after 
 a week or two? Oh, rubbish . . . Rot! Time enough 
 for the gripes when she got the sack! 
 
 She could hear no sound at all from the room above. 
 Was Toby not home yet? He used to get home about 
 ten minutes past six, as a rule. It was now a quarter-past 
 If she did not hear him she would go and meet May, and 
 then call in to tell Mrs. Perce all about the news, and then 
 come home after her mother had gone to bed. She had 
 her tea, turning up her nose at it, and all the time wishing 
 for something better. For some time after the meal she 
 stood about reflecting upon her day and upon the possi- 
 bilities of the future. Consideringly, she at last said in 
 a matter-of-fact tone : 
 
 "One day we'll have jam for tea, ma. And kippers. 
 And fried sausages. And steak and chips." 
 
 "Good gracious !" cried Mrs. Minto. "Whatever's put 
 such ideas into your head !" 
 
 "And we'll have real coal, and thick blankets, and a new 
 mattress, and new curtains, and a brass fender. And 
 everything in the room' 11 be a beautiful gray-blue. And 
 you'll sit here, doing nothing." 
 
 "I'm sure I shan't," exclaimed Mrs. Minto, fingering 
 her mouth to hide a nervous smile of pleasure. 
 
 "Doing nothing. And Elbert, the footman, will come in 
 with the tea and take it away again ; and you'll say, 'El- 
 bert' mustn't say 'Elbert dear' you'll say, 'Elbert, just 
 bring me my glass of hot water at ten o'clock.' And he'll 
 say, 'Yes, me lady.' No, he won't. He'll say, 'Yes, med-
 
 68 COQUETTE 
 
 dam . . . quite. . . . Yes, meddam.' That's what he'll 
 say. Lick your shoes, he will, because you're rich." 
 
 "Rich!" sighed Mrs. Minto. "Who's to make me rich?" 
 
 "I'm going to make us all rich," explained Sally. "You 
 mark my words and wait and see." 
 
 "I wouldn't mind not being rich," Mrs. Minto said, "if 
 it wasn't that my poor 'ed . . ." 
 
 "O-oh !" cried Sally, in wrath. Her mood was crushed 
 by this inexorable return to the subject she had been chat- 
 tering to avert. "Give your old head a rest, ma. Here, 
 come out for a walk with me." 
 
 "You're not to go out, Sally. Mrs. Roberson says. . . ." 
 
 "That for Mrs. Roberson," said Sally, already on her 
 feet. "You don't suppose I'm going to stick in here and 
 get frozen stiff. There's nothing to do indoors. I got no 
 sewing. Only makes me fret if I stay at home. I'm going 
 to see Mrs. Perce. . . ." 
 
 She moved hastily to the door, and closed it quietly after 
 her, for she had heard below her the shutting of the front 
 door, and she thought it might be Toby at last. It was 
 nearly a quarter to seven. Her guess had been right. It 
 was he. Seeming not to have heard him, she ran lightly 
 down the stairs as he heavily mounted them. Her heart 
 was thumping so that she felt quite sick and faint. She 
 could no longer run, but could only totter down towards 
 the inevitable confrontation. It was there, and it was 
 past a plain, boorish "Evening." She managed the rest 
 of the flight at a run ; but when she was out of doors Sally 
 turned to the darkness and could no longer restrain her 
 tears of anguish. This was the end of her day. Laugh 
 in the morning, cry before night. That was the truest 
 proverb that ever was made. She was heartbroken.
 
 TOBY 69 
 
 xv 
 
 There was no question of seeing May or calling upon 
 Mrs. Perce. Sally was beaten. She was full of expostu- 
 lations and arguments, but all were addressed to Toby, 
 and she could not have borne any other society. So she 
 wandered about the streets for an hour, miserably aware 
 that once or twice she was followed by an aimless strolling 
 youth who did not know how to occupy a lonely evening 
 and who yet was too much of a coward to address her. 
 In her mind she went over every detail of her friendship 
 with Toby. It had become suddenly unreal, like a thing 
 that had happened years before. And yet the throb of 
 pain belonging to her sense of his cruelty was immediate. 
 Every detail was clear to her ; and the whole was blurred. 
 He was a stranger; and yet his presence would at once 
 have given life to her memories. They had been written, 
 as it were, in invisible ink, which needed only the warmth 
 of a fire to produce their message vividly once again. 
 Sally sobbed from time to time; but she was no longer 
 crying. Her pain was too deep to be relieved by tears, 
 which with her were the result of weakness, since she was 
 not naturally liquid. And as the memory was exhausted 
 in its evocation she began to think as of old. Her quick 
 brain was recovering its sway. She was no longer an 
 overwrought child. And yet when she strove to plan a 
 discomfiture for Toby, who had so wickedly hurt her, she 
 shrank from that also ; so it was still a restless and unde- 
 termined Sally who returned home to find her mother 
 dozing by the feeble warmth of a dying fire. 
 
 The next day passed in a variety of moods, and in the 
 evening Sally found in herself the determination to call 
 upon Mrs. Perce. She had explained her non-arrival of 
 the previous night to May, and had removed her grievance 
 with a recital of all she had done during the stolen day.
 
 70 COQUETTE 
 
 She had endured Miss Jubb's sour scrutiny of her hair, 
 which was accomplished without comment. And she had 
 almost, but not quite, told Miss Jubb of her proposed 
 change. At times her courage was very nearly high 
 enough, but it never reached the necessary point, or the 
 opportunity was ruined at the vital moment by some inter- 
 ruption. So Miss Jubb worked innocently, not guessing 
 the blow that was to fall. That it would be a serious blow 
 only Sally suspected. Miss Jubb had never even supposed 
 it possible that Sally would leave her. The three of them 
 spent the day in the little work-room, which ma-naged by 
 the end of the afternoon to be the coldest and the closest 
 room in the neighbourhood, perhaps owing to Miss Jubb's 
 use of a defective stove for heating, and her own radical 
 immunity from chilblains. 
 
 After tea Sally went straight to Hornsey Road. In 
 thinking of Toby as she left the house she made a light 
 gesture with her fingers to show that he no longer existed. 
 If she had met him she would have attempted no greeting, 
 for such was her present temper. At the Barrows' she 
 was received with acclamation. Old Perce, who had en- 
 joyed a good deal of four-ale during the day, and had a 
 jugful of it now at his elbow, collapsed at sight of her. 
 He bayed a little, but with an expression of admiring 
 wonder that gave Sally her best tribute. Mrs. Perce, the 
 expert, nodded. She had received a letter in the morning 
 from Madame Gala. So to her all the news was known. 
 All the same, Sally spent a happy couple of hours in the 
 flat, and collected her outdoor clothes with unwillingness. 
 Each time she had been to see Mrs. Perce she had felt 
 more strongly than of old the contrast between her al- 
 ways-cheerless home and their warm, prosperity-laden 
 atmosphere. The recognition acted powerfully upon her. 
 It was the creation in her mind of a standard of physical 
 comfort, as the visit to Madame Gala had created a stand-
 
 TOBY 71 
 
 ard of decorative colour. She was frowning at the new 
 perception as she left the house, and was half -absorbed in 
 her consciousness of it. 
 
 The feeling did not prevent her, at first with a sharp 
 tingling of surprise, and then, as she grasped the signifi- 
 cance of the fact, a start of emotional disorder, from see- 
 ing a familiar figure in the light of the Supply Stores. 
 Her heart jumped, and began to flurry in her breast. The 
 figure she saw was that of Toby. He stood a little to the 
 side of the Stores, watching the doorway from which Sally 
 came. As she flinched, he came across the road. Sally 
 pretended not to notice him, and knew that he was fol- 
 lowing her. But Toby made no attempt to speak to her 
 while they were in the light of the shops. She saw that 
 he had his cap pulled very low down over his eyes, and 
 that his hands were not in his pockets, but hanging loose. 
 He was dressed in a rough dark tweed suit, and looked 
 like a fighter, but not a professional boxer. His carriage 
 was clumsy, but light. His dark face was marked by 
 a sort of determination not bravado, not impudence, but 
 a solid resoluteness. His eyes she had never properly 
 seen. His mouth was large, but the lips were thin; the 
 nose was coarse, but not big. He was ugly, but he was 
 very obviously strong. He was not tall, but was very 
 sturdily built, and gave the air of considerable strength. 
 As he followed her she could hardly keep from looking 
 back; it was only with a great effort that she kept her 
 eyes forward, and as she turned into Grove Road she 
 increased her pace. Sally knew quite well what he would 
 do. He would wait until she had passed the block of 
 shops and had come to the comparative darkness of the 
 houses beyond. Then he would walk abreast and speak 
 to her. And while she tried to think what to do her heart 
 was strangling her. She was so excited that her breath
 
 72 COQUETTE 
 
 was coming almost in sobs. She was excited, but she did 
 not therefore feel at his mercy. 
 
 It happened as Sally had foreseen. As soon as she 
 was past the shops she heard his urgent voice at her 
 elbow "Sally!" For a moment she ignored it. Then 
 she turned, very coldly, and with a slight sneer looked at 
 him. They were side by side now. He was keeping 
 step with her as easily as he could have kept step with 
 a child. "Sally," he repeated. Sally stopped dead. 
 
 "What are you following me for?" she asked, viciously. 
 "Why can't you leave me alone ? Following me like that ! 
 I never heard of such a thing." 
 
 "I been waiting outside for you all the time. I've had 
 no grub. I followed you from the house. I saw you 
 start out just as I was getting home." 
 
 "Well, what of it? I didn't ask you to follow me, 
 did I?" demanded Sally. But in the darkness of the 
 street her eyes softened. Her heart swelled at the thought 
 that he had waited for her in the Hornsey Road for 
 fully two hours. Toby took her defiance as a matter of 
 course. He was still standing doggedly before her, and 
 as she began once again to walk rapidly in the direction 
 of home he followed her, half a step behind. At the 
 darkest part of the road he put out a hand to check her 
 progress. Sally snatched away her arm, but he had been 
 prepared for that, and caught her immediately. He held 
 her, panting, as she pressed against a big stone gate- 
 post 
 
 "Let me be!" cried Sally, hoarsely and breathlessly. 
 "Let me be." She did not scream. She was too im- 
 pressed by his exhibition of strength. He continued to 
 hold her, and they stood breast to breast, Sally panting, 
 and Toby with a kind of stolid determination. 
 
 "Will you come for a walk quietly?" he asked, jerk- 
 ing his head.
 
 TOBY 73 
 
 "No," said Sally, "I won't* There was no mercy, 
 no humility. Only a hard defiance. 
 
 "Yes, you will." He pulled her towards him, so that 
 Sally could not escape. She was now wholly within the 
 circle of his arm, not struggling, but with her poor 
 thin arms staving him off. Her body was tense. But 
 she made no sound, and if there were any passers they 
 knew that this was only a typical lovers' tiff, common 
 to the neighbourhood, and largely a matter of physical 
 strength and feminine vituperation. "Yes, you will. See? 
 Come on, Sally." 
 
 "You let me go," she demanded. 
 
 "Say you'll come. I'll let you go the moment you 
 say that." 
 
 Sally hesitated, then bowed her head in a slow acquies- 
 cence. He released her, and she ran ; but he easily over- 
 took her, and she was once a-gain held, still with her 
 back to a pillar. Both were now breathing hard. Sally's 
 head was lowered. She was suffocating. She seemed to 
 be in complete darkness. And she had no sense of what 
 was happening. The mere technique of the row absorbed 
 her. They were almost like two quarrelling cats, both 
 sullen, both glowering and full of resentment rather than 
 burning anger. 
 
 "Will you come?" asked Toby. "Just for a walk. 
 Half an hour." 
 
 "What d'you want me to come for?" 
 
 "Want to talk to you." 
 
 "Yes, well, I don't want to talk to you. Understand?" 
 Sally was suddenly trembling with a passionate rage. 
 Her voice quivered as she spoke, and the words tumbled 
 out in a savage incoherence. 
 
 "I'm going to talk to you. So you may as well make 
 up your mind to come. You don't want to stand here 
 all night, do you?" He was as savage as she, and more
 
 74 COQUETTE 
 
 grim. Sally made an attempt to escape, and was further 
 pinned. He was breaking down the defence of her tired 
 arms. One of his knees was against her leg. She was 
 slipping, slipping, and her resolve to fight against him was- 
 fading as rapidly in her sense of the physical contact. 
 She burst into tears. For an instant he loosed her, at 
 that, but as she sobbingly began to run away he resumed 
 his former hold, pressing her against him, a broken 
 little girl, and no longer the triumphant Sally of the 
 morning. Her hand was to her eyes, and she was biting 
 her lip to restrain her sobs. Toby put his free hand up 
 and touched hers, held it, drew it away from her wet 
 face. 
 
 "Sally," he said. "I want you. Don't cry, Sally." 
 
 His arm tightened. His face was close. Although she 
 turned away her head, and tried to wrench herself free. 
 Sally knew his lips were relentlessly following her own. 
 She was conscious of all the joy of surrender, incapable 
 of moving from those strong arms, incapable of avoiding 
 his kiss. Her eyes closed, her heart rose; she was limp 
 in his embrace, not as yet returning his caresses, but 
 accepting them with a feeling of miserable thankfulness. 
 Her hat was tilted back, and she felt his cheek against 
 hers, his body against her own. How long they stood 
 she did not know; but at last she put her hands up, put 
 them round his neck, and feverishly kissed him, welcom- 
 ing this joy that was half pain. 
 
 "D'you love me?" she asked breathlessly. 
 
 They were alone in the dark street, in the invisible 
 world; and she had never been so happy. So at last 
 Toby had his way, and they walked about the streets 
 for an hour, until it was long past the time when Sally 
 should have been in bed. Only then did they part, and 
 Sally was half-undressed when she heard Toby passing 
 upon his way upstairs. Her cheeks were burning, her
 
 TOBY 75 
 
 <, her heart exultant. Sometimes, as she lay 
 
 .iring the long night, she was so happy that 
 
 '. hardly breathe. But a moment came when 
 
 s seemed overwhelmed in a poignance of emotion 
 
 .mbled rather a terrible apprehensiveness, and it 
 
 4 that Sally felt the tears trickling from her eyes. 
 
 only the reaction from excessive joy; but she was 
 
 affected. She longed again for Toby's arms to be 
 
 .. her, pressing her face into the pillow to comfort 
 
 >lf with the pretence that he was still there. Ex- 
 
 ht' ted, she slept. 
 
 xvi 
 
 All the next day she could not work for preoccupation 
 with her happiness. She was mad with it, and reckless 
 in her madness. It even, when rebuke came from Miss 
 Jubb, gave her courage to mention Madame Gala. And 
 that was a further cause for delight, since Miss Jubb's 
 mouth dropped open at the news and she could hardly 
 speak to her two girls for the rest of the afternoon. 
 Sally, chuckling to herself, and every now and then 
 grimacing at May Pearcey, abandoned herself to antici- 
 pations of the evening. She would see her dear Toby, 
 would show how much she loved him, would feel herself 
 loved, would hear and say all the little secrets they had 
 never spoken until now. She would know at last what 
 it was to be in love, and with the man who loved her. 
 How wonderful it was! What joy! What fun! Sally 
 could not conceal her grin of happiness. Her white face 
 was as if it had become plump, so immediately did hap- 
 piness transfigure her. And she looked at silly old Miss 
 Jubb, and soppy May, and thought how they had no lov- 
 ers. May had her boys she could keep them. Sally 
 had Toby. Toby was not a boy: he was a man. He 
 shaved; she had felt the roughness of his chin. May's
 
 76 COQUETTE 
 
 boys looked as if they had smooth faces, or if 
 it made their skins powdery. Miss Jubb hac 
 a boy at all, she shouldn't think. You could 
 Miss Jubb as a young girl. She must be quit 
 old as Sally's mother perhaps forty. But ma 
 unlucky to strike dad. He had never been ai 
 Not like Toby. Toby was getting almost a pound 
 already, he said ; and when he was older he woul 
 lots of money, and never be out of a job, becai 
 worked with his hands, with engines, and a man , 
 understood engines would never want for work. r o.e 
 was twenty, and he kept himself. He just took his i .eals 
 with his aunt, and lived in his own room the rest of the 
 time. How she would like to see his room. She longed 
 for them both to get older. But she wanted to get on 
 herself, first. She thought: if Toby's out all day, and 
 we just have a little home, I shall be able . . . She 
 thought she might be a dressmaker herself, and employ 
 twenty hands, and have a waiting-room that was all grey- 
 blue. She had told Toby about Madame Gala, and how 
 he could come to fetch her Saturdays, and they'd have 
 the afternoons together. Sally was brimming with plans. 
 
 In the middle of them there came a knock at Miss 
 Jubb's door. Miss Jubb went, thinking it might be a 
 customer. But she came back again in a minute, with 
 a face even longer than it had been since she heard Sally's 
 news. She could hardly speak, but stood against the 
 dingy door, which she held closed, and swallowed quickly 
 before she could say a word. 
 
 "Sally dear, there's a man here from the hospital. 
 Get on your hat and coat, there's a good girl. He says 
 your mother's been taken there. She turned dizzy just 
 now when she was crossing the road, and was knocked 
 down by a van, and run over. She's asking for you,
 
 TOBY 77 
 
 Sally. You're to go. It's not serious, he says. So don't 
 worry about it. You're just to go and see her." 
 
 Mother ? Ma knocked down by a van ! Sally was on 
 her feet in an instant. As Miss Jubb went out again to 
 glean further details from the man, Sally struggled into 
 her hat and coat. She turned with a callousness which 
 showed that she did not in the least realise what might 
 have happened, and addressed the startled and gaping 
 May. 
 
 "We may not be princesses," she said with a sort of 
 wild gaiety; "but we do see life!" 
 
 xvii 
 
 After she had seen her mother in the hospital Sally 
 was again aware of that sinking feeling of having time 
 to fill a feeling of emptiness of immediate plan, which 
 she had felt in Hyde Park on the Monday. At seven 
 she was to see Toby outside the house. It was not yet 
 five. What was she to do ? Not go back to Miss Jubb's, 
 that was certain! Her mother had been lying in a cot 
 in a big ward, and her arm was bandaged, and she said 
 both her legs felt as though they had red-hot nails in; 
 them; but she was conscious, and they had told her she 
 would soon be about again. Sally was to see Mrs. Rober- 
 son and tell her the news, and to go to two other places 
 to let them know that Mrs. Minto would not be able to 
 come for a time. And she was to be a good girl, and 
 not worry, but to take the three shillings and ninepence 
 which was in Mrs. Minto's purse, and look after herself, 
 and explain to the landlady what had happened . . . She 
 had a host of things to do, and she paid her three calls 
 within ten minutes. So far the question of money had 
 not troubled her. She did not think that three shillings 
 and ninepence was very little to live on for perhaps a
 
 78 COQUETTE 
 
 month. Her emotions at the moment were so blithe that 
 all she perceived in herself was a sense of liberty. Ma 
 would not be worrying her every minute she was in- 
 doors to do this or that, and not to do the other. Ma 
 would not be talking all the time about her head. Ma 
 would not be watching her, asking what she was doing, 
 playing the policeman, grumble, grumble, grumble. It 
 was a fine liberation for Sally. That was the way in 
 which she saw it. 
 
 Her first shock was when she arrived home and founa 
 her own breakfast dishes still strewn about the table 
 as she had left them, the fire unlighted and the old 
 ashes still lying in the grate and upon the hearth, the 
 bed unmade. She was sobered. She first of all found the 
 oil, filled the lamp, and set a match to it. Then she 
 swept the hearth and carefully made a small fire. The 
 coal-blocks took a long time to catch, as they always did, 
 and they quickly burned dull. Upon them she set a kettle, 
 washed the dishes in cold water, and laid the table for 
 tea. The kettle took a century to boil, and she knelt 
 close to the fire, warming herself and waiting for the 
 first spiral of steam. Everything now made her feel 
 splendid. She invented a game that she was married to 
 Toby, and that she was expecting him home; so that for 
 this evening all her work was thoroughly done. Even 
 the bed was made with care. And when she had finished 
 tea she cleared away, and spread a little old red cloth 
 upon the table, and once more snuggled close to the 
 puny fire. As she did so all her thoughts were for Toby. 
 Already she began to listen for him, although it was long 
 before his time. Thought of her mother's accident did 
 not disturb her at all. Thought of the future was aban- 
 doned. Only the sweet delight of being with Toby again 
 was her incessant reverie. 
 
 At last she heard him, and started to her feet. Her im
 
 TOBY 79 
 
 pulse was to run to the door and whisper to him at 
 once; but on the way thither she checked herself. Some 
 scruple of prudence, lest he should think her too eager 
 for him, made Sally allow the steps to pass on up the 
 stairs. But for all that she watched the clock, and 
 listened almost passionately for any sound from above. 
 The fire died. She put on her coat and hat, standing 
 near the fireplace to catch the last waves of heat, with 
 her foot upon the fender and her eyes fixed upon the 
 purplish glow, so rapidly fading to mauve and to grey. 
 She was tense with expectancy. She had no conscious- 
 ness of anything but her strained hearing. Tick-tick-tick. 
 The clock raced on, but the hands all the time appeared 
 to remain still, by so much did her eager heart out- 
 strip them. 
 
 Then there was a thud upstairs, as of a door closed; 
 and quick steps sounded in Toby's room. He stayed 
 there a few minutes, his feet moving a little, and Sally 
 guessed that he was washing himself. Then, noisily, he 
 came down the stairs and left the house. He was barely 
 past the door when Sally blew out the lamp; but she 
 stood mutely in the darkness for more than a minute 
 afterwards. Only when her own patience was gone did 
 she obey her impulse and follow him, creeping down 
 the stairs in the subdued brown light of the house. Out 
 of doors all was black. She peered for Toby. He was 
 there just under the lamp at a few yards distance, and 
 she saw him move farther away at her approach. That 
 action, and the sense of him, gave Sally the most extraor- 
 dinary tremor of excitement and happiness, and her 
 cheeks grew warm. She greeted him with the lightest 
 touch of the arm, and felt in return his hand to her elbow. 
 They walked without speech to the end of the road, and 
 by common impulse to a dark turning where atthis time 
 of the evening they knew there would be no passers; and
 
 80 COQUETTE 
 
 there Toby caught her in his arms. There was no moon, 
 and no sound in the street. They were entirely alone, 
 and separated from the rest of mankind by an impassable 
 wall of obsession. They stood pressed close to one an- 
 other, kissing from time to time, and did not speak. They 
 had at first nothing to say, but there was no shyness be- 
 tween them. They were absorbed in this physical contact. 
 But after some time Sally told him her news, and made 
 him tell her what he had done during the day, and felt a 
 great proprietary interest in him all the while. They spoke 
 in low tones, lovers and amorous lovers even in the middle 
 of humdrum confidences. Toby was shocked about Mrs. 
 Minto far more shocked than Sally had been or could 
 have been; but she airily reassured him in her first de- 
 licious abandonment to a sense of common life. She said 
 "Oo, she's all right. Quite comfortable. More than if 
 she was at home. And it's nicer for me, being alone. 
 See, she grumbles at me always at it what Mrs. Rober- 
 son says, and about her head, and what I ought to do, 
 and that. 'Tisn't that there's really anything to grumble 
 at; only, you know, it's her nature. I never grumble. 
 That's one thing about me. Doesn't matter what hap- 
 pens, I never . . . you know . . . keep on at it, like 
 mother does. What's the good? Crying won't do any 
 good, or grumbling either. I shall be happier while she's 
 away do what I like. Be on my own." 
 
 "Won't you be lonely?" Toby asked. 
 
 "Not with you. Different if I hadn't got you. But if 
 I get frightened I shall just yell for you; and I shall 
 think of you all the time, upstairs, and wonder if you're 
 thinking of me. Will you be?" 
 
 "Course I shall," Toby swore, hugging her until she 
 gasped. "All the time." 
 
 "Will you? It's nice to have somebody to ... you 
 know, like you."
 
 TOBY 81 
 
 "Is it?" he asked gruffly. 
 
 "Don't you feel like that?" she asked artfully. Her 
 reward, another choking hug, was immediately forthcom- 
 ing. "You are strong," Sally went on, and with a sense 
 of daring and ownership and pride felt his arm for 
 muscle. "I'm strong. In a way. Not massive, or any- 
 thing of that kind. I can stand a lot. Mustn't think 
 I'm weak because I'm small; but . . . Well, you know 
 what I mean." 
 
 "Strong, but got no strength," suggested Toby. Sally 
 shook him, chuckling proudly at his wit and will to 
 tease. It was like shaking a tree, so immovable was he by 
 the exerted strength of her weak arms. 
 
 "Saucy!" she said. "Though I s'pose it's what I 
 meant. Toby, you do like . . . you know . . . this?" 
 she suddenly asked, not bent upon a caress, but in a sud- 
 den doubt. Her arms were warmly about his neck as she 
 spoke. Toby left her no doubt. He was not talkative; 
 he had no ready flow of compliment; but he could speak 
 the language which a young girl in love best understands. 
 He could crush her almost to ecstatic forgetfulness in 
 his vigorous arms. Thus embraced, Sally was in Para- 
 dise, and her one desire was to remain there, in a 
 sort of annulment of every other interest; but even in 
 Paradise she found her thoughts irrepressible. So she 
 chattered on, while Toby grunted or did not say anything, 
 or occasionally grew marvellously glib and told some- 
 thing about his work, or an anecdote about himself which 
 she sometimes thought he must have read somewhere. 
 And ever and anon they were lost in silence, and their 
 closeness to one another, and their long breathless kisses, 
 which made Sally lean her forehead against Toby's 
 breast and enjoy exquisitely the sense of being weaker 
 than he and of surrendering all her will to his. 
 
 If it had not been so cold they might have stood in this
 
 82 COQUETTE 
 
 way for the whole evening; but the wind was searching, 
 and presently they began to walk along, he with his 
 arm about her so closely that they walked almost with 
 one motion. Toby smoked his cigarettes, and when he 
 wanted one he put his left hand in his pocket, and drew 
 out a cigarette, and Sally felt for his matches, and struck 
 one, and held it for him, and received smoke in her face, 
 and blew the match out, and received a kiss, Toby all 
 the time never ceasing to hold her within his right arm. 
 She wished there were more cigarettes, so much did she 
 enjoy the sense of intimacy. Sometimes she could not 
 resist the temptation to put her arm round Toby's waist, 
 and give him a little private hug of her own, to show 
 how happy she was. She loved the darkness more and 
 more, because it made her bolder. And the sky was 
 so dark that the lamps were like small flickers, and if 
 anybody passed it was impossible for a face to be seen. 
 And Sally was alone in this dream world with Toby. 
 She wished it might continue like this for ever, night and 
 day, beautifully quiet and secret, with Toby all the time 
 loving her as much as he did now. It was lovely. It 
 was lovely. She was happy. She did not feel tired or 
 cross or mean or worldly any longer ; but only happy, and 
 full of love. 
 
 At last they heard a clock striking eleven, and Sally 
 gave a jump. 
 
 "Mercy! Eleven o'clock. Must go home. Good job 
 mother's not there. Else she'd be asking questions." She 
 laughed as she spoke. "She'd want to know something. 
 I shouldn't half have a time. 'Eleven o'clock: where 
 you been?' I shouldn't mind. I'd take no notice. I 
 don't take any notice of her, because . . . you know . . . 
 it encourages her if you take any notice. Oo, the way 
 she keeps on. You wouldn't believe. Drive me to drink, 
 it would, if I had it all the time. But she's not there. . . ."
 
 TOBY 83 
 
 Sally hugged Toby. "Isn't it lovely ! Nobody to grumble. 
 Nobody to mind what time I get in. ... Well, you know 
 what I mean. I must go in now." But when it came 
 to the moment of parting she clung to him. "I don't 
 want to go. I don't want to go," she cried. "It's been so 
 nice, and I've been so happy." To her horror she felt that 
 she had begun to cry. With an effort she pulled herself 
 free. "Well, I suppose I must. And you'll think of me, 
 won't you? Just downstairs. And I'll think of you, and 
 wish you were there. . . . Oh, fancy me saying that! 
 Toby . . ." She was passionately serious. "Say you 
 love me!" 
 
 "Love you !" said Toby. 
 
 She turned and waved to him when she was a ew 
 steps away, flew back to his arms, and stayed there for a 
 few minutes. Then, this time with more resolution, she 
 ran towards home, letting herself in with a sense of 
 brazen guilt at her lateness, and treading softly up the 
 stairs. When she was in the room, she shuddered a little, 
 at the cold, and in her excitement. Then she lighted the 
 lamp and looked at herself in the mirror at her bright, 
 betraying eyes, at her mouth, which was also betraying, 
 and at her hair and cheeks and brows and hands. She 
 was laughing, but not aloud. Her laughter was the 
 mirth of happy excitement. And, still so happy, she 
 began to undress; and then thought she would make 
 herself a cup of tea. So she finished undressing while 
 the kettle boiled, and was sitting up in bed drinking her 
 tea when she heard Toby go upstairs. His movements 
 made her start, and the tea dribbed over the side of the 
 cup. Into her head suddenly came a memory of her 
 own words: "And I'll think of you, and wish you were 
 there." 
 
 "And so I do," she suddenly whispered. "So I do. 
 Oh, I'm wicked. I'm wicked !" She was trembling, and
 
 84 COQUETTE 
 
 forgetting everything, her eyes fixed upon the wall 
 vaguely grey before her, outside the pale ray of the lamp. 
 Mechanically, she sipped again, and the tea ran warmly 
 into her throat. "No, I'm not wicked," Sally argued. 
 "I'm not. 'Tisn't wicked to love any one like I do Toby. 
 It's wonderful. Fancy me in love! And Toby . . . 
 well, liking me. Oo, he is strong and big. Wonder if 
 he's brave ? I should think so. You couldn't be as strong 
 as him and not be brave. Oh, I love him." She re- 
 membered their caresses, unembarrassed and exulting. 
 She knew what it was to be loved. She knew . . . she 
 knew everything. Everything that made people love each 
 other and want to be always together. Her mind per- 
 sistently went on kneading into a general memory the 
 detached memories of the evening, and she was excited 
 and full of longing for Toby. Slowly she drank her tea, 
 without thinking of it at all, but accepting its comfort. 
 Her shoulders began to feel cold, and she shivered as she 
 finished the cup. 
 
 Sally slid out of bed to replace the cup and to put out 
 the lamp. As her hand was outstretched she thought she 
 heard a faint noise, but a moment's startled listening re- 
 assured her. It had been nothing. She lowered the wick, 
 and blew out the remaining small blue rim of light. 
 Another instant, and she would have been back in bed, 
 snuggled down in the warmth. But at that instant she 
 heard a further sound, this time the turning of the door 
 handle. She froze with sudden dread. In the darkness 
 she could see nothing. 
 
 "Who's there?" she whispered. 
 
 The door must slightly have opened. She could now 
 see it open in the gloom. 
 
 "Sally." 
 
 It was Toby. Joy took the place of fear. He was in-
 
 TOBY 85 
 
 side the door, and she was in his arms, and the door was 
 closed again behind them. 
 
 "My dear," Sally was saying, in a thick little caressing 
 voice. "My dear." 
 
 "Had to come," mumbled Toby, hoarsely. "Thought 
 of you all alone. I wanted you. See, I had to come." 
 
 "Of course you did," murmured Sally, her spirit leap- 
 ing up and up in tempestuous excitement. "Toby, you 
 do love me? You do truly love me?" 
 
 She had no sense then of anything but her love for 
 him and his love for her. She was carried right past 
 caution and thought. She was in his arms, and she was 
 happy. And Toby, a dim figure of burly strength, was 
 kissing her until she was blinded and choking with excite- 
 ment beyond all she had ever felt. Everything conspired 
 to affect her all suppressions, all knowledges, all curios- 
 ities and vanities. Nothing but caution could have re- 
 strained her, and caution was forgotten. She was ve- 
 hemently moved and beyond judgment or reflection. Her 
 one desire was to give herself to the man she loved, 
 the man who loved her. And the opportunity was upon 
 them as they were in the first fever of their passion.
 
 BOOK TWO: GAGA
 
 BOOK TWO: GAGA 
 
 TEN days later, Sally began her work with Madame 
 Gala. She arrived punctually, but found Nosey be- 
 fore her, keeping a record of arrivals. She also found 
 one or two other girls, who stared at her in an inquisi- 
 tive fashion and went on talking among themselves. Only 
 when a forewoman Miss Summers arrived did the big 
 room take on any air of being used for work, and within 
 five minutes all the girls were in a state of preparation. 
 Sally saw that they all had sleeved pinafores or overalls ; 
 she had none. As she had not a farthing to buy material 
 to make such a thing, and had only a couple of slices of 
 break and margarine in her coat pocket for lunch, and 
 would have to walk all the way home, Sally could not 
 fight against the chilling of her heart which quick glances 
 about the workroom produced. The girls were of all 
 sorts and sizes, some of them smartly dressed and coiffed; 
 others wearing clothes less expensive even than her own, 
 and with a general air of not knowing how to make the 
 best of themselves. Looking round at the faces she could 
 see none that indicated cleverness or special intelligence. 
 One ferrety-looking little thing seemed as though she 
 might be either sharp or half-witted ; a tall dark girl who 
 was rather pretty and had beautiful hair used her hands 
 with assurance; but observation did not make Sally feel 
 ashamed of herself or of her ability. These girls could 
 do almost as they were told, but not quite. But the pina- 
 fore was a serious question. Sally had never been used 
 to such a thing. She had not even brought an apron. 
 
 89
 
 90 COQUETTE 
 
 While the others settled down, whispering among them- 
 selves and looking sharply at Sally, the forewoman, after 
 a greeting, ignored her until she had attended to all that 
 was more important. In her hands was the giving out 
 of work. Sally saw that she was supposed to know what 
 each girl could do. She also saw that some girls were 
 favourites and others not. If she were to make progress 
 here she must be a favourite. She must show quickly that 
 she had the brains and could work well. It took a very 
 short time to make her realise that. For a moment she 
 was inclined to be over-confident ; but that mood collapsed 
 before a side glance and a titter from two of the girls. 
 Their instinctive ridicule warned and stiffened Sally. 
 They did not know her. She would have to prove her 
 qualities. She then concentrated upon Miss Summers, 
 watching how she turned, how she smiled and frowned, 
 and how she explained what had to be done to each girl 
 who was receiving new work. Miss Summers was a short 
 stout woman with cat's eyes and a long nose. She licked 
 her lips like a cat. She was inconsistent and short-tem- 
 pered ; but Sally afterwards found that while she was ex- 
 traordinarily vain she was rarely unkind. But in general 
 she was severe, because severity was the only course to 
 pursue with these chattering girls, who were full of 
 scratches and jealousies, and who would have taken ad- 
 vantage of weakness with rapid unscrupulousness. So the 
 little stout woman, feline and easily exasperated, was a 
 good person to control the room. Her kindness might be 
 part of her vanity, but it was not assumed. She loved 
 her work, and she was always glad to praise good work 
 from the girls, and to encourage it by favouritism to good 
 workers. It was not the pretty ones or the sly ones who 
 were the favourites. It was the workers. Following each 
 girl with her eye, Sally could not observe that at the be-
 
 GAGA 91 
 
 ginning; but it did not take her long to add it to her 
 now formidable collection of facts. 
 
 When at last Sally was called to Miss Summers's side, 
 and questioned, she walked the length of the room feeling 
 as though her legs had no joints, and as though her 
 shoulders were fixed. There were only eleven girls in 
 the room besides herself, but they were all looking at her. 
 And when she stood before Miss Summers in her little 
 black dress she looked so slight, with her slim body and 
 thin pale face, that several of the girls went on with their 
 work again immediately, having lost interest in her. 
 Sally, confronted by Miss Summers's catlike eyes, which 
 were a gooseberry green, twisted her fingers, and blurted 
 out: 
 
 "I'm sorry, I got no pinafore. I didn't know I had to 
 have one." 
 
 She was relieved when Miss Summers smiled and 
 licked her lips. 
 
 "Well, let's make you one for a start-off. Shall we?" 
 
 Sally could have fallen down, so astonished was she at 
 this retort. Still she blurted further : 
 
 "I got no money for the material." 
 
 Again Miss Summers smiled. She might almost have 
 given a purr. She rubbed her cold nose with the back 
 of her hand, like a cat washing its face. 
 
 "That's all right," she said. "We'll find some stuff. 
 It can come off your wages. I want to see what you can 
 do, d'you see? And that's as good a way as any. I 
 shall be able to notice how you do it, and give you a 
 word of advice if you want it. And you won't waste 
 much time, and you won't waste much material. And so 
 why not? Just stand here while I get the length." As 
 she measured the length of Sally's frock, and allowed 
 a few additional inches for the pinafore, she sharply said 
 in a low voice that only Sally could hear: "That's right:
 
 92 COQUETTE 
 
 never use scent. It's vulgar. From the look of you I 
 was afraid you'd use scent and be saucy. But I'm glad 
 you aren't." 
 
 "Oh, no, miss," answered Sally. Quite truthfully, she 
 added: "I've never thought of using scent. I don't like 
 it. Only common girls use it." Unconsciously she was 
 emphasising all her sibilants. 
 
 "Well, some of the girls here do," said Miss Summers. 
 "Hold still." 
 
 The pinafore was a simple matter for both Miss Sum- 
 mers and Sally; and before the morning was over Miss 
 Summers had visited Madame Gala. 
 
 "The new little girl's a quick worker," she said. "Very 
 clever. I think she'll be very useful." 
 
 At which Madame Gala raised her straight brows and 
 looked piercingly at Miss Summers. If Sally could have 
 heard and appreciated the speech as Madame Gala did 
 she would have known that she had become a favourite 
 at a bound. She did not even guess it, so absorbed was 
 she in deserving commendation, until the end of the 
 week, when she received her full wages, without deduc- 
 tion. She was tempted. How easy to say nothing, and 
 take the risk of it being remembered! She could easily 
 say she was sorry she had forgotten all about it. Then 
 some strong impulse of honesty made her go up to Miss 
 Summers. 
 
 "You haven't taken off the money for the pinafore," 
 she whispered. 
 
 "That's all right," said Miss Summers. "Good girl 
 to come to me about it." 
 
 Good girl! Sally wondered if she really was such a 
 very gooc 6 irL
 
 GAGA 93 
 
 ii 
 
 She was not, morally, being a very good girl ; for her 
 mother was still in the hospital, and she and Toby 
 were taking risks. So far there had been no discovery; 
 but they were getting bolder, and only the day before 
 going to Madame Gala's, when his aunt had been out 
 for the afternoon and evening, Toby had had Sally to tea 
 in his aunt's room, and they had sat together over a good 
 fire, and had silently made love to each other for hours. 
 The more love-making they had, the more they wanted, 
 and Sally had been living all the week for the time she 
 spent with Toby. But her mother would be coming home 
 soon, even though she would be unable to work; and 
 both knew that the wild ecstasy would end with her return. 
 It was that, probably, which made them less careful, or, 
 if not less careful, at any rate less cautious in the use of 
 their opportunity. Sally had a dread, which she would 
 not face, and if Toby had any dread he never told her. 
 For all her feeling of intimacy with him, Sally never 
 reached below his manner and his strength; and her 
 ignorance of him it was that gave the whole relation its 
 charm for her. He was mysterious, a compelling strength 
 outside her, a strange man who responded to all her wishes 
 and who loved her as she wished to be loved brutally and 
 dominatingly. She was dazzled and infatuated. But 
 already, in her first days with Madame Gala, she had re- 
 covered sufficient of her old coolness to be set upon definite 
 personal success. This was her strongest impulse. Her 
 love was outside it, a gratification now, and not a torment. 
 She had no sense whatever of wrongdoing; only of hos- 
 tility to her mother because her mother's return would 
 interrupt the tenour of her life. Once only she said to 
 Toby, secure in her trust of his love and care : "Toby . . . 
 if I have a baby, you'll . . . you'll marry me, won't you?"
 
 94 COQUETTE 
 
 And Toby gave her the necessary promise in obvious good 
 faith. Neither, therefore, troubled about the future. 
 They were both too anxious to live only in the exhilarat- 
 ing present. 
 
 But at last Mrs. Minto returned, and by that time 
 Sally was living upon money borrowed from Mrs. Perce, 
 her one friend and protector. Mrs. Minto could not 
 work. She wrote to Aunt Emmy, and Aunt Emmy helped 
 her from her prizewinnings, and for several weeks they 
 were thus enabled to stave off want. Once Mrs. Minto 
 was back at home the old order of parsimony was re- 
 vived, and it cost them very little to keep life going on 
 from day to day. Sally's seven shillings a week helped. 
 And at last Mrs. Minto was allowed to go out, and Mrs. 
 Roberson took her back. Slowly, half -starving, they 
 managed to exist. Sally still had her evenings with Toby, 
 with their glory dimmed; and as the weeks went on she 
 knew that she was safe from the causes of her dread, and 
 carried herself jauntily, and she began to earn a little 
 extra money by working in the evenings for Miss Jubb. 
 This meant that she saw Toby less often, and Toby now 
 had a man friend from the works where he was employed, 
 and was sometimes with this man Jackson. Sally had her 
 seventeenth birthday: her figure had improved, and so 
 had her appearance. She was still meagre, because she 
 had not enough to eat ; but some compensation of Nature 
 allowed her to maintain her health and to mature. 
 
 One day, when she had gone to practise upon Mrs. 
 Perec's piano, as she had not done all the time they had 
 been away from the flat, Sally attracted Mrs. Perec's at- 
 tention by singing unusually well. Her friend listened; 
 and then looked into the room. 
 
 "What's that you're singing?" she demanded. "Suits 
 you. You'll never be able to play the piano, Sally, be- 
 cause you'd have to practise every day for hours to do
 
 GAGA 95 
 
 that; but you've got a big voice for your body. I sup- 
 pose your lungs are good. Ever heard me sing? It's 
 like a baby crying. But that song 'The Love Path' suits 
 you. You might do something with your voice. Not 
 much, I expect; but something. You just try and get 
 hold of somebody who knows about such things. Might 
 do a turn on the Halls. You never know. If I come 
 across anybody I'll ask them ; but I don't see many people 
 now, and what I do are all in the 'public' line. It's worth 
 thinking about, for a girl like you, with your way to 
 make. Unless you marry, of course ; and you say you're 
 not going to do that in a hurry. So there you are. Make 
 the most of yourself, I say; and let the Devil go hang 
 himself if he's a mind to it." 
 
 Sally, who had never thought of such a thing, prom- 
 ised. For a time she was flattered by the vision of sing- 
 ing to audiences. But that soon faded. She met nobody 
 outside Madame' s, except for one or two young men who 
 spoke to her on the way home; and so she kept to her 
 sewing and machining for Miss Jubb. It pleased her to 
 be able to tell Toby, who, however, frowned, and did 
 not seem pleased. 
 
 "Seems to me you're always thinking you'll do some- 
 thing wonderful," he said sourly. "Doesn't seem to 
 come to much, as fur as I can see." 
 
 "Oh, doesn't it!" cried Sally. She shook herself free 
 from him, and marched off in anger. And Toby did not 
 follow. It was a tiff. By the next evening both were 
 contrite, and the matter was never spoken of again. All 
 the same, Sally remembered it. She remembered it the 
 more unforgivingly because Toby's remark had been true. 
 Nothing so far had happened to prove definitely that her 
 confidence in exceptional powers was justified. He was 
 jealous of her! Sally laughed almost scornfully. Fancy 
 a big fellow like Toby being jealous of a little thing like
 
 96 COQUETTE 
 
 her. Men! They were all alike. All right as long as 
 they were playing first fiddle ! That was it : Toby didn't 
 want her to have a chance at all. He wanted her always 
 to be number two. Sally shook her head obstinately. 
 
 "All right, Master Toby!" she said to herself. There 
 was no more in it than that a momentary revolt; but 
 once the notion had arisen it began to revolve in her 
 mind. She could not remember if she had ever told Toby 
 of her plan to be a successful dressmaker; but what would 
 he say to that? Would he like his wife to make money, 
 and to have real ladies coming to her as they did to 
 Madam? It seemed from this that he would not. He 
 preferred to be top dog. Sally was to be nothing upon 
 her own account merely to fetch and carry, and do 
 what she was told, and husband his paltry little earnings. 
 He'd rather be poor than owe anything to his wife, in 
 case she became bigger than himself. Was that it ? Was 
 that Master Toby's idea? If so, it was not Sally's. She 
 suddenly understood that Toby thought of her as his wife, 
 as his chattel ; and that she had never ceased, except in the 
 passionate excitement of their early relations, to think 
 of herself as one who belonged to herself and was going 
 to make some sort of life for herself. This came as a 
 shock to Sally. She fiad never thought of it before. She 
 was beginning to grow up. From that time she first began 
 to criticise Toby. Until then he had been the burly man 
 she loved. Her thoughts of him, as her love for him, 
 had been merely physical. She was now to search more 
 deeply into the needs of life, still crudely, but examin- 
 ingly. It was not enough, then, to love a man if you 
 were going to have something else to do in life besides 
 love him. The idea was new. It puzzled her. It was 
 something outside the novelettes she had read, and out- 
 side her own precocious thoughts. Love was love all 
 knew that. She loved Toby; she had given herself to
 
 GAGA 97 
 
 him ; they were practically married ; and now it appeared 
 that something was wrong somewhere. Toby did not 
 want her to be Sally: he wanted her to be just a sort of 
 moon-Toby. Another girl would have wanted nothing 
 better. Sally told herself that she was different. She 
 went out by herself, one evening, instead of working; 
 and walked up to Highgate. And as she went up the hill 
 she sang to herself the ballad "The Love Path." It began : 
 
 "When you and I go down the love path together, 
 Birds shall be singing and the day so long," 
 
 and she could play the simple accompaniment to it with 
 very few mistakes. She remembered Mrs. Perec's words. 
 What if she could do something with her voice? Did she 
 sing well? She allowed herself to glimpse another glor- 
 ious future. 
 
 In the middle of the walk Sally stopped dead. 
 
 "Oh, doesn't it . . ." she said aloud. "Well, we'll just 
 see. We'll just see about it. That's all." And having 
 as it were made her formal protest she resumed the jour- 
 ney, and arrived home tired out, ready for bed; and be- 
 fore she had been in bed more than two minutes she 
 was fast asleep, dreaming of motor cars and footmen 
 standing on the pavement with fur rugs in their hands. 
 In her dream she was alone in the cars. Even the 
 chauffeur had no smallest resemblance to Toby. And yet 
 she still loved him with all her heart, and when she was 
 with him she felt that she extraordinarily belonged to 
 him. Love had again at last encountered ambition, and 
 battle was joined.
 
 98 COQUETTE 
 
 iii 
 
 Dreams of luxurious motor-cars, and footmen with fur 
 capes and long fawn-coloured overcoats, holding fur rugs 
 to cover her knees, were now constant in Sally's mind. 
 Sht saw such things occasionally in Regent Street, and 
 loved to look in at the windows of motor broughams up- 
 holstered in fawn-coloured corduroy, with arm straps and 
 little hanging vases of fresh flowers. The freshness of 
 these cars was her delight. She had no notion of the 
 income it was necessary to have in order to possess such 
 cars, with their attendant footman and chauffeur ; but that 
 income, whatever it was, became her ideal. Money ! Lots 
 of money! With money you could have comfort. When 
 she said that, and was warned by conventional wiseacres 
 that money did not produce happiness, she sneered at 
 the timid ones. "Bet I'd be happy," she said. "What's 
 happiness?" She wondered what it was. For her it had 
 been oblivion in Toby's arms. It was so no longer. That 
 was not all she desired. It was not by any means all. 
 And she shrank more and more strongly from a life 
 of squalid toil such as her mother had had such as she 
 would still have had if Mr. Minto had been a sober man. 
 All her life she had slaved and slaved, and now she was 
 worn out with it. Not for Sally ! She had other plans. 
 She had gone to the West End, and the West End was 
 in her blood. She was looking round at life with some of 
 her old calculating determination to exploit it. The death 
 of her father, the passion for Toby, these had distracted 
 her. With increasing confidence in her position at 
 Madam's, and a new sense of what money could actually 
 do in the way of procuring food and clothes and ordinary 
 or extraordinary physical comforts, Sally had returned 
 to her old faith. She began to have a little money to buy 
 things for herself. Once or twice Miss Summers gave
 
 GAGA 99 
 
 her quite good-sized pieces of material, and there were 
 always scraps to be gathered and utilized. And Sally was 
 enabled to dress carefully. She became the smartest of 
 the girls in the room, for she had a natural sense of 
 smartness. The other girls did not like her, but they 
 all envied her and admired her. It was not that she was 
 unpopular; but that they felt in her the hard determina- 
 tion to get on, and were resentful of her manifest ability 
 to achieve what she meant to do. 
 
 The other girls were all sorted out in Sally's mind. 
 There was not one of them into whose nature she had 
 not some biting insight. She had become so practised 
 that she knew all their dresses (as of course all the others 
 did, so that a new one was an event), and knew what 
 everything they owned had cost. She could recognise 
 anything that had been dyed, any brooch or adornment, 
 any stockings. She would have made a good house-de- 
 tective. But she never told tales. If she knew, she knew, 
 and that was all. It was not for Sally to play the police- 
 man. All knowledge went into her memory. It would 
 be devastatingly produced on the occasion of a row, but 
 Sally rarely quarrelled. With her, nothing ever came to 
 a quarrel. There was no need for it to do so. She 
 was neither jealous nor censorious. One does not quarrel 
 with one who neither loves nor blames nor is stupid or 
 too anxious to show cleverness. Sally merely "was," and 
 the other girls knew it. For this reason she was not 
 liked, but neither was she feared or unpopular. They 
 did not hide things from her, but they did not show them 
 eagerly. Sally was Sally. She enjoyed being Sally. She 
 meant always to be Sally. 
 
 And at last there came into Sally's life, when she had 
 been at Madame Gala's for about six months, a new in- 
 terest, and a singular one. One day, when they were all 
 working very hard, and the electric light was on, Madame
 
 100 COQUETTE 
 
 came into the workroom with another person. And this 
 person was a young man with a grey, thin face, rather 
 tall and stooping, with a hesitating manner, and a gen- 
 eral air of weakness. He followed Madame Gala round 
 the room in an idle way, nodding to several of the girls ; 
 and Sally thought he had a very attractive smile. She 
 found him looking at herself with a pair of large soft 
 brown eyes, like chocolate which has been in a warm 
 place. It was a rather dumb look. A little nick came 
 between Sally's brows. She was busy making an in- 
 ventory of the young man visitor's traits, his features, 
 his clothes. He dressed well, and he was not bad-looking. 
 With more stamina he might have been almost handsome ; 
 but he was obviously not in good health. The stoop, 
 the vagueness of all his movements, his soft eye, all be- 
 tokened as much. Sally turned to Muriel Barrett, who 
 worked next to her. 
 
 "Who's he?" she asked, indicating the stranger. 
 
 "That's Bertram . . . Madame' s son. Mr. Merrick, 
 his real name is. But we call him Gaga." 
 
 "Wodjer call him that for?" asked Sally. "Isn't he 
 right in his head?" 
 
 "Oo, well one of the gels she's gone now, Mary Smith, 
 made it up. She said he was Mr. Gala, you know. 
 Then she called him Bertie Gaga, for fun; and it got to 
 Gaga. I never spoken to him, so I don't know. Look 
 out, he's looking at us. Oo, I believe he's got a crush on 
 you, Sally." 
 
 Presently the young man followed his mother out of 
 the room, and there was a little buzz when they were gone. 
 The girls leaned together, and whispered, laughing among 
 themselves. Muriel Barrett turned again to Sally, and 
 became confidential. She herself was a pink, snub-nosed 
 blonde, with untidy hair, who was always sniffing over
 
 GAGA 101 
 
 her work. She jerked her head at Rose Anstey, the tall 
 dark girl whom Sally had noticed when first she came. 
 
 "Rose thought he was in love with her once," Muriel 
 said. "Well, he was, a bit; but not as much as she 
 thought. I mean, he used to look at her, and all that, but 
 he never give her anything, or took her out. I think . . . 
 you know . . . she's a bit struck on him. That's more 
 like it. She thinks he's a very tall handsome man. Well, 
 he's not my taste. Funny, if you're tall, I s'pose you 
 want a tall man to fall in love with you. It's different, 
 being small, I suppose. My Elf's only about inch taller 
 than me. You can't hardly see there's any difference be- 
 tween us. If I've got my hair frizzed he looks . . ." 
 
 Muriel went on talking. Sally took a glance at Rose, 
 who, with eyes downcast, was sewing rapidly. Sally 
 wished she had known that about Rose and Gaga while he 
 was in the room : then she would have been able to look 
 at Rose and make up her mind about that affair. She 
 did not suppose really that there was anything in it, 
 either way. Muriel was a little fool like a little pink 
 pig. That was just what she was like. And she chat- 
 tered like a monkey. She had said that because he looked 
 at her twice Gaga had got a crush on Sally. Well, Sally 
 didn't mind. He could have any old crush he liked, for 
 all she cared. Gaga was dismissed from her immediate 
 attention, although she sometimes recollected a pair of 
 soft brown eyes, that made her want to say "Moo" as if in 
 response to their dumb longing. 
 
 The outcome of this visit, which occurred towards the 
 end of May, was a day's outing for the girls at the 
 beginning of June. They all went into the country by 
 train, on a day which at first promised to be typical of all 
 days unfortunately chosen for staff outings, but which 
 cheered up later and became brilliantly fine. Only the girls 
 were there, with Miss Summers and another forewoman,
 
 102 COQUETTE 
 
 Miss Rapson, to see that nobody fell into mischief. They 
 had a good picnic lunch in woods, and ran or walked or 
 sat about all the afternoon, until it was time for tea. 
 They then trooped into an hotel in which a room had been 
 engaged, and scrimmaged for places round a big table. 
 The tea was an enormous meal : Sally, who had not 
 hitherto enjoyed herself any more than most of the other 
 girls had noisily done, felt herself grown to twice her 
 normal size. It was the biggest meal she had ever eaten, 
 and there were cream and milk and sugar, and there were 
 cakes and lettuce and jam and all sorts of other en- 
 couragements to appetite. And every time anybody 
 laughed the sound went up to the varnished rafters, and 
 billowed so much that the two elder women had at last to 
 break in upon a laughter competition. Sally held aloof 
 from the laughter, scornfully regarding the laughers. She 
 had been rather serious all day. 
 
 And when the noise and fun were at their height 
 Madam and Gaga and another man and woman came 
 into the room, having motored to the hotel, taken their 
 tea in another room, and determined to join the party. 
 The tea had been so late, and so prolonged, that it was 
 already nearly eight o'clock, and as the sky had grown 
 overcast and the day was drawing to a close the lights 
 suddenly popped up to illumine the faces of both feasters 
 and visitors. A piano was opened at the far end of the 
 room, and the woman who was with Madam sat down at 
 it and began to play. But only one or two of the girls 
 danced: the others had eaten too much to be able to do 
 so. Then Rose sang a song, in which she said that her 
 heart was aching and breaking at somebody's forsaking, 
 and the girls looked at one another significantly; and 
 there were more songs, and the girls sat back in their 
 chairs with flushed faces, and each of them in turn seemed 
 to be doing something to entertain the party. With a
 
 GAGA 103 
 
 bored feeling, Sally was sipping her last cup of tea, when 
 she became aware that Gaga had taken the chair next 
 to her, and with his chocolate eyes was looking plead- 
 ingly into her face. 
 
 "Don't you sing?" he asked. "I wish you'd sing." 
 
 "I got no music," said Sally. 
 
 "Mrs. Roach would be able to make an accompani- 
 ment. She understands music very well if you hummed 
 her a song. I wish you'd sing." 
 
 Sally rose to her feet. The other girls all watched 
 her with narrowed eyes. She was wearing such a pretty 
 dress of light grey cotton poplin that she looked smarter 
 than ever, they thought in fact, almost pretty. She went 
 close to the piano, and spoke to the pianist. "Oo, swank!" 
 whispered the girls, when they saw that Sally was to 
 play her own accompaniment. It was a thing none of 
 them could have done. 
 
 " 'When you and I go down the love path together, 
 Birds shall be singing and the day so long . . .'" 
 
 sang Sally, in her clear voice, and made everybody arch 
 their brows in surprise. 
 
 " 'Your heart mine, and mine in your keeping, 
 List while I sing to you love's tender song. 
 Ah, love, have done with your repining, 
 See how the day is clear; 
 Heart of my heart, 
 On your fond heart reclining 
 Dear, oh my Dear . . .' " 
 
 She played with care, and struck no false notes. She sang 
 her best. Her voice was the best voice of the afternoon, 
 a mezzo-soprano, but with clear upper register and a
 
 104 COQUETTE 
 
 fulness that suggested training. It was not a great 
 performance, but it thrilled the others. Sally had tri- 
 umphed. With one accord the girls clapped. 
 
 "My best worker," said Miss Summers, rubbing her 
 cold nose and turning to the accompanist of the after- 
 noon. 
 
 "A clever little girl," agreed her neighbour. 
 
 But Gaga was stupefied. He had remained in the chair 
 next to Sally's, and when she resumed her place his mouth 
 was still open with delight and admiration. Again he 
 leaned forward, and she met his melting chocolate eyes. 
 
 "That was beautiful," he said, in a low tone of com- 
 mendation. "Beautiful !" 
 
 "Glad you liked it," she said, almost brusquely. In- 
 stinctively she shot a glance in Rose's direction. Rose, 
 her cheeks mantling, was observing the two with interest. 
 Sally's brain clicked an impression, and she listened to a 
 stammering from Gaga which aroused her contempt. 
 "He's hardly a man at all," she thought. "He's soppy. 
 Rose can have him. I wish her joy of him. She can 
 have him and twenty like him, if she wants ... I don't 
 know so much about that. Why should she? She's stuck 
 up. Why shouldn't I have some fun, if I want to? It's 
 nothing to do with Rose Anstey what I do, and what 
 Gaga does . . ." 
 
 Her demand was unanswerable, because it was ad- 
 dressed to one who did not habitually withdraw herself 
 lest she should give pain to others. If Rose was jealous, 
 that showed the sort of cat she was. And in any case, 
 who was Rose? Sally was bright in her responses to 
 the soft voice, so that Gaga was pleased; but the girls 
 could all see that her manner was cool, and not the 
 flustered eagerness of a beggar. Rose's neighbour whis- 
 pered. When the evening was over and Gaga and his 
 mother had gone, and the girls had all piled into two rail-
 
 GAGA 105 
 
 way compartments, somebody, whose voice was unrecog- 
 nisable in the darkness, called from the other carriage: 
 
 "What price Gaga on the love path ? Whey !" 
 
 There was great laughter. Even Sally joined in it. 
 Going home, the other girls in her carriage all insisted 
 upon hearing the song again, and as they all had the 
 quick ear of Cockneys they could sing it in chorus by the 
 time the train reached its journey's end. Sally had be- 
 come, for a time, the heroine of the occasion. Only Rose, 
 in the other carriage, had made her protest against the 
 song and its singer. 
 
 "Love path!" she said, in a warm voice of indig- 
 nation. "She's nothing but a cocket a white-faced 
 cocket. That's what she is. She nothing but a white- 
 faced cocket, that Sally Minto!" 
 
 From that time onward that was Sally's name among 
 the girls "Cocket," or "White-faced Cocket." Rose had 
 coined the phrase which would stick. When Sally heard 
 her name the next day, through Muriel's indiscretion, she 
 looked over at Rose with pinched nostrils and a little dry 
 smile. She was flattered. The name was the product of 
 Rose's jealousy and injured vanity; but it was life to 
 Sally, for it was a testimony the first she had ever had 
 to her charm and her dangerousness. 
 
 IV 
 
 She did not tell Toby the next night about her singing. 
 She rather carefully refrained from telling him, not out 
 of considerateness, but from a sort of scorn for his 
 jealousy. To herself she said "Anything for a quiet life." 
 Toby never dreamed that such a person as Gaga existed, 
 any more than he guessed at any of Sally's encounters 
 with young men on the way home. Sally had discre- 
 tion. Had he been a lover, she might have told him; but
 
 106 COQUETTE 
 
 as he was more to her than that she saw no reason to 
 arouse his jealousy. And really, if a man spoke to her, 
 and looked all right, where was the harm in letting him 
 walk a little way with her? She never made appoint- 
 ments, and after a time, when they found she could take 
 care of herself, and did not want a non-committed male 
 friend, these fellow-pedestrians soon left her alone. For 
 Sally, each of them was practice. To mention them to 
 Toby would have been to give them all too great im- 
 portance. And he might have made a fuss, and un- 
 necessarily interrupted her fun. "Where ignorance is 
 bliss," thought Sally, " 'tis folly to call out the guard." 
 And, further, "Let sleeping dogs lie until the milk is 
 stolen." And so Toby pursued his own path, and never 
 knew a tenth of what went on in Sally's life and mind. 
 Compared with Sally, he knew nothing at all. She grew 
 each day more rusee, more cunning in knowledge of the 
 world. And Toby blundered where he should have been 
 most astute. It was his fate. 
 
 Sally told him about the outing, because she saw he 
 was in a gloomy mood on the day a Sunday after the 
 girls' treat. She described it at length as they walked in 
 Waterlow Park, hanging on to his arm, and all the time 
 searching his tell-tale face and guessing at the cause of 
 his manifest depression. She told about the picnic and 
 the woods, and the tea, and the journey home; and she 
 saw his mouth slightly open as he grunted. She could 
 see the tiny points of hair that were beginning to make 
 a perceptible blueness upon his chin, and the moulding 
 of his cheek, and a little patch of fine down upon his 
 cheek bone, and the hair at his temples which she had so 
 often kissed. And she knew by his averted eye that some- 
 thing was the matter with him. She began to try draw- 
 ing him on the subject his aunt, had he heard from his 
 mother (who had married again when Toby was a baby,
 
 GAGA 107 
 
 and lived with her husband in the North), what had 
 he been doing at the Works? AJi! That was it. Toby 
 had started, and frowned. It was something at the 
 Works. Oh, he was easy for Sally to read! 
 
 "What's the matter?" she suddenly asked. Toby 
 flushed and scowled down at her, very dark and ugly 
 in his irritation, his mouth twisted. 
 
 "Matter?" he demanded. "What d'you mean? 
 Nothing's the matter." 
 
 "That's why you're so cheerful, I suppose," retorted 
 Sally. "At the Works, I mean." Toby gave her a quick, 
 angry look in which there was an admixture of fear and 
 suspicion. 
 
 "There's nothing the matter," he said, in a tyrannic 
 voice. 
 
 "Have you got the sack?" Sally was merciless. She 
 replied to his tyrannic voice with one as hard and stab- 
 bing as a gimlet. "Ah, I thought that was it. What 
 you been doing?" 
 
 "Nothing," said Toby. "And anyway, what's it to 
 do with you?" 
 
 "Well, I'm out walking with you. See? And I got 
 to do all the talking. See? And if you're going to be 
 surly I'll go home by myself. That's what it's got to do 
 with me. And, besides, it is something to do with me, 
 and don't you forget it. You got no right to keep things 
 from me." 
 
 Toby was cowed by her handling of him. He might 
 be strong, but brains are always more potent than muscle 
 in such circumstances. And men are always afraid of 
 the women they love. 
 
 "Yes, I got the push," he defiantly said. 
 
 "And what's that for?" demanded Sally, with the 
 severity of a mother to her baby. There was no answer. 
 "What's that for?" she repeated. "Come on, Toby,
 
 108 COQUETTE 
 
 you'll feel better if you tell me about it. Toby, d'you 
 love me? Well, there's nobody about . . . quick!" 
 They kissed, and her arms had been round his neck, and 
 Toby was her sheepish, scowling, smiling slave. Sally 
 had a faint consciousness of joy in her power. 
 
 "Well, you see . . ." he began, haltingly. "Jackson 
 and I ... we been . . . well, we wanted to make a bit, 
 you see. And tiddent his fault, but he . . ." 
 
 "Been pinching stuff," said Sally. "Clumsy. Got 
 found out. Well?" 
 
 "Well, they found out about me, too." 
 
 "What had you been doing?" 
 
 "I never took anything ; but I found a lot of old things 
 among the rubbish, and I showed them to Jackson. Well, 
 they asked him if anybody had been with him; and he 
 said 'no.' " 
 
 "That was all right," Sally said. "I like Jackson." 
 
 "But then the man he'd been dealing with said Jack- 
 son had talked about his 'mate.' And they knew that 
 was me. And I ... told 'em a tale." 
 
 "7 bet!" cried Sally, scornfully. "And got caught in 
 it, too. Badly!" 
 
 "Well, they fired us both yesterday, and said we was 
 lucky they didn't prosecute." 
 
 "Did they pay you? What you going to do now?" 
 
 "I dunno." Toby stared stubbornly before him. "Get 
 something else, I suppose. Jackson's going for a sailor. 
 Guess I'll do that, too." 
 
 "Go for a sailor?" demanded Sally, with a heart that 
 went dump into her boots. "What d'you want to do 
 that for?" 
 
 "I'd be with Jackson, see, if I went for a sailor." 
 
 "And what about me?" Sally's voice was no longer 
 hard or dry. "D'you want to leave me? Are you tired 
 of me, Toby? I believe you are. Are you?"
 
 GAGA 109 
 
 "No, I'm not. And I don't want to leave you. But 
 if I went for a sailor I'd make a bit of money, perhaps, 
 and then after a little while I could come back and begin 
 again. It would get over having no reference. They'd 
 say 'Where you been working?' and I'd say 'Been at 
 sea for the last year." Then they wouldn't know any- 
 thing but what I told 'em. I wouldn't go long voyages, 
 Sally. Only just short ones. I'd often come home, and 
 we'd have a spree." 
 
 Sally's quick brain was at work. She did not want 
 him to go; but if he went, and if she saw him often, 
 in spite of his being away, perhaps it would not be so 
 bad. 
 
 "But suppose you got wrecked?" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Rot. D'you suppose every ship gets wrecked? 
 Don't be a fool!" 
 
 "No. But yours might get wrecked. How am I to 
 know, supposing there's a storm? It won't not get 
 wrecked because you're on it. Would you come home 
 very often? Would you wear sailor clothes? Wonder 
 how you'd look ! Oh, I know you mean a jersey. Would 
 it have letters across your chest? Where d'you have to 
 go?" 
 
 Sally was so interested that she was even making up 
 Toby's mind for him. By the time they went in it was 
 decided that he and Jackson were going to sea, and that 
 Sally should be taken down to visit his ship if it happened 
 to be at the Docks or at Tilbury. She had dancing visions 
 of Toby in a navy blue jersey, with "Queen of the Earth" 
 or "La Marguerite" or "Juanita" across it in white let- 
 ters. She could see his dark hair blown by the wind, and 
 the veins in his wrists standing out as he hauled a rope. 
 It was rather fun! she thought. "My boy's a sailor." 
 She would be able to touch him for luck. Sailors were
 
 110 COQUETTE 
 
 lucky. She sang to herself a song one of the workgirls 
 knew: 
 
 "Sailors are lads. Sailors are lads. 
 Sailors they make you laugh !" 
 
 Before night she was wholly reconciled to the idea that 
 Toby would go to sea. She soon had a dim perception 
 of the fact that it would do him good to go. It would get 
 him away from the atmosphere of the Works, where 
 there seemed to be a lot of stupid larking and work-dodg- 
 ing. Now that he was dismissed she began to realise all 
 this. She was glad he was away from it. She was glad 
 he was going to sea. It would be a complete change. 
 It would do him good. He had been fiddling about too 
 long at the Works, in his overalls and in the grime and 
 oil and general dodginess of the place. The ship would 
 take him about, and show him the way people did things. 
 It would open his eyes and his brains. Electrically, some- 
 thing self -protective within her added the further mes- 
 sage : it would keep him out of the way for a time. Sally 
 breathed deeply. An unreadable smile was upon her lips, 
 and no smile at all was in her eyes. Afar off she scented 
 change; but what manner of change she did not as yet 
 recognise. It was her instinct at work, her instinct for 
 turning life to her own advantage. It was an infallible 
 instinct, like that of birds for a coming storm. 
 
 It was some weeks before Sally again saw Gaga, and 
 this time he came into the premises of Madame Gala one 
 Saturday morning. Sally had taken something in to 
 Madam, and was waiting her judgment, when one 
 door opened and Gaga came in. He was dressed, as 
 usual, in a morning coat and top hat, and his trousers
 
 GAGA 111 
 
 were creased to an inconceivable point of accuracy. Be- 
 sides which, his tailors had been able to do what most 
 tailors cannot achieve; the creases arrived at the precise 
 centre of Gaga's fawn spats. Sally was not such an ex- 
 pert in male clothing to recognise from this that 
 Gaga's tailors were supermen; but she could tell that he 
 looked like a gentleman of leisure. She was the more 
 astonished, therefore, to see him carrying a parcel of 
 some size under his arm. His mother was evidently 
 quite as astonished. 
 
 "What on earth's that, Bertie?" she demanded. Gaga 
 looked at her in a timid way. 
 
 "Oh er it's . . . it's a new fertiliser," he said. 
 "I ... I'm going to take it on to the office after lunch. 
 Goodmayes is coming back then. Perrip says it's wonder- 
 ful stuff, and I want Goodmayes to go into it. We're 
 going into all that matter good morning, Miss Minto 
 this afternoon. I ... I think we may be able to get 
 through quite a lot. You see, as it's Saturday, we shan't 
 be interrupted. . . ." 
 
 "That will do, Sally," said Madam, gravely and slow- 
 ly nodding her head in dismissal. 
 
 Sally went with regret. She had been interested in 
 the conversation. She had taken it for granted that Gaga 
 did nothing for a living. Now he talked of going to an 
 office, and of two men whose opinions he evidently 
 valued, and of fertiliser; and although his words and his 
 manner were still those of a hesitating man he did not 
 speak as an absolute fool. Sally felt a stir of curiosity. 
 What sort of business was it that he was in? Ferti- 
 liser . . . wonderful stuff . . . something to do with 
 gardening, would it be ? As she was closing the door, Sally 
 looked back and saw mother and son standing together. 
 The likeness was remarkable. Both were tall, grey-faced, 
 and slightly stooping. Gaga was weak-looking for a
 
 112 COQUETTE 
 
 man, and Madam had more severity ; but there were such 
 lines upon her face that she looked like an old woman. 
 A sudden realisation shook Sally. As she went back to 
 Miss Summers with an explanation of Madam's deferred 
 judgment she had this sharp new knowledge about 
 Madame Gala. 
 
 "Well she won't live for ever," thought Sally, defi- 
 nitely. 
 
 And then she had recourse to her usual informant, 
 Muriel, and asked her Gaga's business. Muriel did not 
 know. Sally was therefore left to conjecture. She for- 
 got all about Madam and Gaga, for Toby was going to 
 meet her after business on his first leave from the "Flor- 
 ence Drake." She was dressed in her most destructive 
 raiment, had searched the skies for rain, and was watch- 
 ing the clock. So fertilisers went the way of all secon- 
 dary things, and Toby became her dominating thought. 
 He had become the more splendid by his absence. She 
 imagined him standing in the street below, dressed equal- 
 ly in his best clothes, and looking the finest boy on earth. 
 They were going into Hyde Park and Kensington Gar- 
 dens, and he had promised to take her in a boat on the 
 Serpentine, if one could be hired, and somewhere to tea, 
 and at night to the Maryborough Theatre in Holloway 
 Road. It was worth while to lose him for a time in order 
 to recover a Toby more dear, and so much more extrava- 
 gant on her behalf. He explained his generosity by the 
 fact that he would be drawing his wages that day. Good 
 to be a sailor, and have your money in a lump like that t 
 Sally thought she would not altogether mind if he re- 
 mained at sea for a time. He could save, and she could 
 get on ; and then they would both be happy, with a house 
 somewhere, and a maid, and everything spick and span. 
 No babies. Sally had taken that to heart, and she appre- 
 ciated the value of old Perce's advice. A girl who want-
 
 GAGA 113 
 
 ed to get on did not need babies to drag her down. She 
 wanted freedom. 
 
 As the clock slowly crawled to the hour of liberation 
 all the girls began to put away their things, so that a real 
 busyness was observable in the room. Sally was appar- 
 ently no more eager than the others, and yet she could 
 hardly keep herself from running to the window to see 
 if Toby was in the street below. Sedately she prepared 
 to leave, walking down the stairs slowly instead of rush- 
 ing at them as she wished to do. She buttoned her little 
 gloves, and set her hat straight, and made herself appear 
 nonchalant. And that was how it happened that Gaga 
 overtook her at the front door, and stood with her for a 
 moment upon the doorstep. 
 
 "Lovely day it is," Gaga said, agreeably. "You going 
 to get away?" 
 
 "Away ? Oh, no, I'm going home," Sally said brightly. 
 Then, looking at him, she saw that there was nothing to 
 disturb the impression that he was a gentleman of leisure. 
 "Oh Mr. Ga Mr. Bertram . . . you haven't got your 
 parcel!" she cried. 
 
 He slapped one hand upon the other, with a most dra- 
 matic gesture. 
 
 "Idiot!" he exclaimed. "Thank you so much, Miss 
 Minto. You've saved my afternoon." And with that, 
 raising his top hat, he went back up the stairs, leaving 
 Sally to congratulate herself upon her memory and her 
 presence of mind. For she knew the rooms would all 
 be locked by Miss Summers before she left. 
 
 She looked round for Toby, and saw him, as fine as a 
 bird, upon the opposite path. Crossing over, she took 
 his arm with such pride and delight that Toby, who had 
 been frowning as he greeted her, was almost appeased. 
 She looked so charming in her very pale green dress with 
 the artfully-brimmed hat that he also had looked proud
 
 COQUETTE 
 
 and happy at her first appearance. But Toby had received 
 a shock. Standing there in his dark tweed suit, with a 
 rakish Trilby hat and a fascinating cane, he had felt a 
 fit companion for any girl, and as he was shaven, and 
 his square face was browned with the sun and the sea 
 wind, he had been content. And then Sally, looking like 
 a princess . . . 
 
 "Who the devil's that silly fop?" he demanded, jerking 
 his head. 
 
 Sally gave a jump, and a mischievous peep up into 
 Toby's brown face. 
 
 "Jealous?" she asked. "That's right: be a man. 
 They're never happy unless they're jealous. That's Gaga. 
 And if you want to know who Gaga is, he's Madam's 
 son. See?" 
 
 "Well, he'd better not come fooling around you," 
 growled Toby. "Or he'll get a thick ear. With his top 
 hat and his kid gloves and all." 
 
 "Hark at it!" jeered Sally. "Quite the little man! 
 Don't you think he awfully good-looking, Toby? We're 
 all mad about him. All us girls." 
 
 "No, I don't," said Toby, deliberately. "But I expect 
 he's the sort the girls like. Well, he's got a harem there, 
 and no mistake, all fussing round him. Is he there all 
 the time?" 
 
 "No. Toby, what's fertilisers ?" Sally's curiosity had 
 been revived. "Don't you know? Oh, shut up about 
 Gaga. Anybody'd think he was a devil. He isn't. He's 
 soppy. He wouldn't dare to make love to any of us 
 girls. If I was to look at him he'd run away." 
 
 "Yes," said Toby, grimly. "I see he didn't like you 
 looking at him." 
 
 "Well, I'll tell you something else, Toby," added Sally, 
 with a persuasively dry candour. "If Madam was to see 
 me looking at him I should get the sack spiff! See?"
 
 GAGA 115 
 
 Toby was impressed. More, he was silenced. They 
 spent a happy afternoon and evening, with no further 
 reference to Gaga. Nor did Sally think of Gaga during 
 the whole of the weekend. He might have been mixed 
 and pounded with his own fertiliser for all she cared. 
 For Sally had Toby. 
 
 vi 
 
 One night Miss Summers and Sally were working late 
 upon a "rush job," and Madam was also in her room. 
 The girls had all gone ; but Sally had been chosen by Miss 
 Summers to help her, and Sally was always ready to do 
 this because it meant a small addition to her weekly 
 money. Madam was doing her books, and Gaga was 
 helping her. Sally was sewing busily beautiful fine 
 work that caused Miss Summers to purr and lick her lips 
 with relish; and as they worked they exchanged re- 
 marks which would have been impossible if they had not 
 been alone. Miss Summers always spoke of the business, 
 which absorbed her, and Sally gleaned innumerable de- 
 tails in this way, without seeming to be doing such a 
 thing. She, on her side, gave Miss Summers a low-toned 
 picture of her own life, concentrating upon domestic cir- 
 cumstances and enhancing Miss Summers' respect for her 
 bravery and her willingness. When they had been silent 
 once for a little while, and Sally had finished the first 
 of her difficult and gratifying tasks, Sally fell into 
 thought, and at last said to Miss Summers : 
 
 "Wish I knew about accounts. I don't know anything. 
 Is it hard to learn ?" 
 
 Miss Summers shook her plump face, and rubbed the 
 tip of her nose with the back of her hand. 
 
 "No," she reassuringly said. "It's easy. You know 
 what twice one are ? Well, that's all it is. You put down
 
 116 COQUETTE 
 
 on one side how much you charged, and when you get 
 the money you put it down on the other side, and draw 
 a line to show they balance. And every month or every 
 quarter you go through your books, and see who hasn't 
 paid; and if it isn't anybody special you send them a fresh 
 account. And if it's a real lady you don't worry her. 
 You have to know who's who in a business like this. 
 That's the chief thing." 
 
 "Does Gaga Mr. Bertram know who's who ?" 
 
 "No !" Miss Summers's tone was conclusive. "But his 
 mother tells him who to write to, or who to send an ac- 
 count to, and he knows bookkeeping, and how much is 
 at the bank; and he draws cheques for her to sign, and 
 that sort of thing. Between you and me, Sally mind, 
 this is quite between ourselves, I don't think Mr. Bert- 
 ram's got a very good head for figures. You have to be 
 a bit smarter than he is. Of course, he's very kind and 
 good-looking; but if I wanted good sound common sense 
 I wouldn't go to him. Not a good head for figures. He's 
 not very sharp. Now Madam's as sharp as a needle. It's 
 funny how a really sharp woman sometimes has a son 
 who's well, not so sharp. . . ." 
 
 "Would you say / was sharp?" asked Sally innocently. 
 
 "Like a knife," declared Miss Summers, with a quick 
 dart of her feline eyes. 
 
 "Really?" Sally was eager. She gave a little chuckle 
 of pleasure at such emphatic praise. 
 
 "You'd be able to do the books, but you're better where 
 you are. When you've been here another three months, 
 Sally, you'll be getting more money. It isn't only that 
 you're a good worker, and quick, but you've got more 
 sense than the other girls. I oughtn't to say this to you. 
 I don't generally praise the girls here. But if you want 
 to get on, you've only got to stay where you are. You'll 
 find Madam appreciates you. And so do I."
 
 GAGA 117 
 
 "You've been awfully good to me," murmured Sally, 
 with downcast eyes. "I'm not just saying that, Miss 
 Summers; I mean it, every word. When I came here 
 I didn't know anything; and now I don't know a lot; 
 but . . ." She gave a small cluck of her tongue, and 
 a smile, to show how much she had learned. It was true. 
 And she was even learning to speak better, through lis- 
 tening to Madam and Miss Summers and at times a cus- 
 tomer; and she had enough sense to avoid the extrava- 
 gant refinements of Nosey. Presently she resumed: 
 "Miss Summers, what does Mr. Bertram do? He's got 
 a business of his own, hasn't he?" 
 
 Miss Summers looked across at the door leading to 
 Madam's room, and lowered her voice. 
 
 "It's only something Madam put him into. It's a 
 business all to do with farms." 
 
 "Farms?" Sally laughed. "Well, he doesn't look 
 much like a farmer." 
 
 "No, it isn't exactly farms; but chemical things they 
 use on farms. Now you see there's the soil." Sally nod- 
 ded, so deeply interested that she ceased her work. "Some 
 soil's good for growing things, and some isn't. Well, 
 when a soil's not good the farmers mix stuff with it, to 
 make it better." 
 
 "I know," cried Sally, joyously. "Fertiliser." 
 
 "Yes. And then from the good soil they'll get a crop 
 early in the year, and then, by using stuff, they'll get 
 another crop later. All that sort of thing. And if cows 
 have the mange, or the rickets, or whatever it is cows 
 have, Mr. Bertram's got something to give them. D'you 
 see what I mean ? And all sorts of chemical things. Stuff 
 to kill weeds, stuff to give chickens to make them have 
 bigger eggs. . . . He's got an inventor, and a manager, 
 and others who are interested in the business, and he's 
 got a share, and he goes to the office and goes about the
 
 118 COQUETTE 
 
 country sometimes." Miss Summers screwed up her 
 nose and lips, looking very like an old pussy, and 
 in a whisper added : "Doesn't really do very much." She 
 put her finger to her lips at that, and Sally, resuming her 
 work, reassured her by a glance. "Of course," said Miss 
 Summers, "he's very agreeable, and good-looking, and 
 he's got plenty of money." 
 
 Money! Sally's eyelids flickered. She gave a charm- 
 ing grin. 
 
 "Wish I'd got plenty money," she said. 
 
 "You will have," answered Miss Summers, confident- 
 ly. "Don't fret. Your time's coming. You're young 
 yet, and all sorts of things might happen to you." 
 
 Sally made no response. She fell into silence for a 
 time. She had learnt with the greatest interest about 
 Gaga's business, and about the books. She learned a 
 great deal from Miss Summers, whom she had grown to 
 like very much. She was by no means insensitive to 
 kindness, although she was not sentimental over it. And, 
 as she thought, she came round again to the two workers 
 in the next room. 
 
 "D'you think Madam will live long?" she unexpected- 
 ly asked. 
 
 vii 
 
 Within half an hour the job was finished, and Miss 
 Summers took it in to Madam. She closed the door after 
 her, and so Sally could not hear what was said. She 
 stood up, stretching her arms, and looking down into the 
 street, for it was barely growing dusk, and she could see 
 a few men and women walking along in either direction. 
 She yawned slightly, raising her hand to her mouth, her 
 muscles stiff. And as she stood thus she heard the door 
 opened and closed again, and, still yawning, said sleepily : 
 
 "Oo, I'm so tired!"
 
 GAGA 119 
 
 "Are you?" she heard behind her, in a very soft and 
 sympathetic voice. Sally wheeled. 
 
 "I thought it was Miss Summers," she cried. 
 
 Gaga stood there smiling shyly, and looking at her 
 with his appealing eyes. In this light he looked very 
 handsome, and Sally felt almost sorry to see that he also 
 looked tired. His face was quite grey, and his move- 
 ments were those of an exceedingly nervous person who 
 would always shrink from roughness. 
 
 "I'm so sorry you should have had to work so late," he 
 said. 
 
 "Oo, it's nothing," cried Sally. "Do me good. If I 
 was at home I should only be working there," she added, 
 explanatorily. "Work, work, work." 
 
 "Don't you ever get any fun?" asked Gaga, timidly. 
 "I mean, go out, or anything?" 
 
 Sally shook her head. She was silhouetted against 
 the light. 
 
 "No," she told him. "Not often." It was strange 
 how refined her voice automatically became when she 
 was talking to Gaga. She was altogether restrained. 
 "You can't if you've got to earn your own living. And 
 have to get here early in the morning." 
 
 Gaga hesitated, half turned away, came back. 
 
 "I'm very sorry," he said, in his gentle, weak way. 
 "Don't you like it? I mean going out. Or is it just 
 that you don't get the chance ? Poor little girl. Er I'm 
 sorry. Er it's a beautiful night, isn't it?" 
 
 "Lovely," agreed Sally. "I'm going to walk home." 
 
 He considered that. He did not seem to have anything 
 more to say. Sally moved to her place, and mechanically 
 put away her scissors and thimble. She was still in her 
 pinafore, and she could not take that off and roll it up 
 while Gage was in the room. So they stood there, sepa- 
 rated by several yards. He took out a cigarette case,
 
 120 COQUETTE 
 
 and lighted a cigarette, throwing the match under the 
 long table at the side of the room. 
 
 "Yes," he said reflectively. "Are you going to have 
 dinner first?" 
 
 "Me?" laughed Sally. She shook her head. "When 
 I get home. If I had dinner in London it would take all 
 my wages, and more, at a single go." She laughed again, 
 but not woundingly. 
 
 Gaga looked at his shoes, again at Sally, again at his 
 shoes. 
 
 "Look here," he blurted out, "I wish you'd . . ." 
 
 Sally's ears were pricked ; but they heard only the open- 
 ing of the door of Madam's room as Miss Summers re- 
 turned. Both Sally and Gaga turned away, as if in 
 slight chagrin. Then Gaga backed out of the workroom. 
 The conversation was over. It was time to go home. 
 Slowly Sally removed her pinafore and rolled it, thinking 
 rapidly. Miss Summers was so pleased at Madam's satis- 
 faction with the dress that she was beaming and purring 
 and rubbing her hands together. She nodded benevo- 
 lently at Sally. 
 
 "Well, you get off, Sally," she said, in a full tone of 
 delight. "It's quite all right. Madam's very pleased 
 with the dress. Don't hang about now, but get home to 
 your supper. You've been a very good girl." 
 
 Sally put on her hat. 
 
 "Good night, Miss Summers." And as she passed 
 the door of Madam's room she gave a little silent nod 
 towards it, and a little grimace also. She was out upon 
 the stairs. She was out of doors. And as she walked 
 along she heard rapid footsteps behind her, shrank a 
 little, and looked up to see Gaga standing beside her, 
 quite breathless, as if with a hurried journey. 
 
 "Er Miss Minto," he panted. "I'm sorry ... I 
 . . . will you take these? Er good night."
 
 GAGA 121 
 
 He raised his hat, and went into the building, leaving 
 Sally mutely clasping a box of chocolates which he had 
 thrust into her hand. She looked round, but he had dis- 
 appeared, and she began to march homeward, still clasp- 
 ing the chocolates. Only when she was in Regent Street 
 with her treasure did Sally dare to laugh. Then the whole 
 scene came back to her so vividly that she could control 
 her mirth no longer, but stared, shaking, into a shop win- 
 dow. He must have hurried out to buy the chocolates 
 after being interrupted by Miss Summers. 
 
 "My!" she whispered to herself. "My!" For a time 
 that was all she could say; but as she resumed her journey 
 she exclaimed : "Chocolates ! He never gave Rose any- 
 thing at all. Ee! He was going to ask me to dinner. 
 Wish he had! He didn't dare! My word, he hasn't 
 half got a crush on me ! Old Gaga !" She was consumed 
 with delighted laughter, that made her break into smiles 
 at intervals during the whole of the dismal walk which 
 followed. 
 
 viii 
 
 "Here, have a chocolate, ma," said Sally. Mrs. Minto 
 was sitting beside the empty grate reading, with the aid 
 of a magnifying glass, a piece of newspaper which had 
 been wrapped around Sally's mended shoes. She looked 
 very frail and meagre, but she was very much better than 
 she had been, and but for the ugliness of the room and 
 the drabness of her clothes she would not have appeared 
 miserable. She was, in fact, a pathetic figure ; but thanks 
 to Sally they were no longer starving, or in immediate 
 danger of it. 
 
 "Chocolates!" cried Mrs. Minto. Then, sternly and 
 suspiciously, she said in her weak voice of warning, 
 "Where did you get them from, Sally?" 
 
 "Won 'em in a raffle," declared Sally.
 
 122 COQUETTE 
 
 "Oo, gambling!" reproved Mrs. Minto. "It's very 
 wrong of young girls " 
 
 "Fiddlesticks! They're good chocolates, too," said 
 Sally. "Don't make yourself sick. It's a nuisance. Be- 
 sides, I want some myself. I am hungry. I've been 
 working all the evening." 
 
 "Working!" grumbled her mother, incredulously. 
 
 "Well ... I ... have!" asserted Sally. "Perhaps 
 you'd like me to get Miss Summers to give me a certifi- 
 cate? You'll see. I shall have a bit more money at the 
 end of the week. Then you'll rub your eyes. You'll apol- 
 ogise I don't think ! No, I'm a bad girl, wasting my time 
 gadding about. You never think of that when you get 
 the money, or the money if I'm late." 
 
 "Hush! Hush!" begged her mother. "I never said 
 you was a bad girl. You're a very good girl. But when 
 you bring home a box of chocolates at this hour nine 
 o'clock, and past and say you won them in a raffle, and 
 you've been working well !" 
 
 "What's that you're reading?" asked Sally, pointing 
 to the small print. 
 
 Mrs. Minto straightened the sheet of newspaper, and 
 held it up to the light. 
 
 "It's an old paper," she said. "A trial." 
 
 "Lor! Murder?" Sally almost left her supper. 
 "What's it all about?" 
 
 "Well ... oo, he must a been a wicked wretch. He 
 poisoned the old lady. He'd robbed her before he did 
 it. Took all her money to give her an annuity, and then 
 he poisoned her." 
 
 "Poison! Whew! What sort of poison?" 
 
 "Flypapers, it was. Not them sticky ones, but the 
 brown, what you put in water. Got arsenic in them, they 
 have." 
 
 "What's arsenic?"
 
 GAGA 123 
 
 Mrs. Minto looked over her magnifying glass at Sally 
 in a bewildered way. 
 
 "I don't know. It's poison. I never poisoned any- 
 body. Not that I know of." 
 
 "No," agreed Sally. She thought to herself: "She 
 ought to have poisoned dad. All of us." Melancholy 
 seized her, a dreadful passing fit of depression. Sudden- 
 ly she longed for Toby. Aloud, she proceeded, more se- 
 riously: "If it's in the flypapers, why don't we all get 
 poisoned, ma?" 
 
 "Well, it seems he soaked the papers, and drained off 
 the water, with the poison in it, and mixed it with her 
 food beef tea, and that. She never noticed anything. 
 She had awful pains, and diarrhoea, and was sick; and 
 then she died, poor thing." 
 
 "Hn," said Sally, reaching out for the chocolates. "I'll 
 read it. I like murders." 
 
 "Hush !" cried Mrs. Minto, in horror. "Read them 
 yes; but say you like murders! What wicked people 
 there are in the world, to be sure. I hope they hanged 
 him." 
 
 "Doesn't it say?" mumbled Sally, dealing with a choco- 
 late with caramel inside it. 
 
 "It's torn across. It's what I got your shoes in, Sally. 
 It's a ... It's 'Stories of Famous Trials,' in the Weekly 
 Something ... I can't see what it is." 
 
 For the next quarter of an hour Sally ate chocolates 
 and read about the trial of Seddon for murdering Miss 
 Barrow. 
 
 "Miss Barrow!" she exclaimed. "Wonder if she was 
 any relation to old Perce! I'll ask Mrs. Perce about it. 
 Oo fancy Tollington Park ! Quite near us in Hornsey 
 Road." 
 
 Mrs. Minto shuddered, and looked furtively at the
 
 124 COQUETTE 
 
 clock, longing for her bedtime. Sally caught the glance, 
 shut up the box of chocolates, and folded the paper. 
 
 "You going to work?" asked her mother. 
 
 "Wash my hair." 
 
 "You're always washing . . . washing, you call it!" 
 cried Mrs. Minto. 
 
 Sally ignored the sneer, and proceeded to her occupa- 
 tion. There was a silence. Mrs. Minto yawned. She 
 looked at Sally making her preparations, and into her 
 face came a watchful anxiety that was mingled with pro- 
 found esteem. There was a chic about her girl that made 
 Mrs. Minto assume this expression quite often, and Sally 
 knew it. She knew it now, and was elaborately uncon- 
 scious of it. As she waited for the kettle and moved 
 the lamp so that it would illumine the washstand, she 
 whistled to show how blind she was to any sign of emo- 
 tion from her mother. When the whistle was unavailing, 
 she said sharply: 
 
 "Don't you think this is a pretty frock, ma?" 
 
 Mrs. Minto sighed heavily, and pulled herself up out 
 of her chair. 
 
 "Far too pretty, if you ask me," she said. "Looks to 
 me fast." She was full of concern, and did not try to 
 hide it from Sally. 
 
 "Oo !" cried Sally. "You are stupid, ma !" And with 
 that she whipped the dress over her head and revealed 
 the fact that she wore no petticoat. Her mother was the 
 more outraged. 
 
 Sally began to sing. 
 
 " 'When you and I go down the love path together, 
 Stars shall be shining and the night so fair.' " 
 
 "Well, it's a good thing nobody else sees you like that," 
 sniffed her mother, rebukingly. "I don't know what they 
 would think!"
 
 GAGA 125 
 
 Sally f orebore to make the obvious retort. Her mother 
 prepared for bed. 
 
 ix 
 
 For the next fortnight Sally did not see Gaga, and 
 only at the end of the period did she learn that he had 
 been away from London on business. This was one of 
 the journeys of which Miss Summers had spoken, to the 
 agricultural districts. Sally could not discover whether 
 Gaga actually acted as traveller for his own firm; but 
 she gathered that he found it useful to see how the coun- 
 try was behaving itself in the matter of agriculture. She 
 suspected also that he went away for his health. She 
 speculated as to what he looked like with his handsome 
 coat off, and recalled wrists that could have been spanned 
 with ease by her own small fingers. In contrast, when 
 she saw Toby, she saw with swelling pride how big his 
 hands were, and felt his already increased muscles. Once 
 he swung her clear from the ground with one arm, so 
 that her feet kicked against his leg in helplessness. He 
 was getting stronger and stouter than ever, and his eyes 
 were clear and his skin tanned and smoothed by the 
 breeze. She adored him. He wanted her to go away 
 with him during one of his leaves ; but Sally did not dare 
 to go, because her mother had been specially grumbling 
 and suspicious. So they saw each other rarely for the 
 rest of the year, and their meetings became the more 
 precious for that reason. 
 
 Soon after Gaga returned, Madam went away. She 
 had had no holiday, and she had fallen ill, with headaches 
 and bilious attacks and a threat of jaundice. So it hap- 
 pened that Gaga came each day to the dressmaking estab- 
 lishment and took charge of the cash and the accounts, 
 while Miss Summers and Miss Rapson interviewed any 
 customers who came about dresses. Miss Rapson, a tall,
 
 126 COQUETTE 
 
 thin, dark woman, was in another room, with eight girls 
 under her ; but Miss Summers was really in charge while 
 Madam was away, because she understood the whole 
 business, and was a more experienced woman than Miss 
 Rapson. Sally had hardly ever seen Miss Rapson until 
 this time, so much did she keep to her own room; but 
 now, when the two who were in charge had to arrange 
 their work together, there was more interchange. Sally 
 had often to go into the other room with messages or 
 work, and she came to understand very quickly what 
 went on there. Miss Rapson was strict, and rather dis- 
 agreeable. Her girls were like mice, unless she was ab- 
 sent; and her sallow face gave the clue to her disagree- 
 ableness. She did not like Sally at all, because she was 
 jealous of her. Sally was quick to perceive this, but she 
 did not retaliate. She formed her own cool conclusions 
 about Miss Rapson. She understood the complexion, and 
 she was more concerned with the details of the work than 
 with anything else. Besides, she was in a strong position. 
 She had nothing to fear from Miss Rapson. She soon 
 recognised that she had not much to learn from her, 
 either. Miss Rapson was forty, angular, shortsighted. 
 She was inclined to be fussy and self-important and lack- 
 ing in self-reliance. If anything went wrong she lost 
 first her head and then her temper. "Hysterics!" thought 
 Sally, cruelly. And Miss Rapson was very anxious in- 
 deed to have the reversion of Miss Summers' place of 
 trust. She had set her heart upon it, although she knew 
 that as Miss Summers was no older than herself, and 
 as little likely to marry, she might fruitlessly wait a life- 
 time. Anything which suggested a possible rival, even 
 though it might only be in the distant future, was a cause 
 of sleeplessness to her, and after a sleepless night, when 
 all possible causes of grief, summoned from memory and 
 the inventions of her own unquiot spirit, came into her
 
 GAGA 127 
 
 head, Miss Rapson was one of the most insufferable 
 women in the dressmaking. "If I was boss here," thought 
 Sally, "and I had any trouble with her, she'd go like a 
 shot. Easily get someone in her place." But she did not 
 show that she was thinking this. She said : "Yes, Miss 
 Rapson. No, Miss Rapson. I'll tell Miss Summers, 
 Miss Rapson," in the most respectful way. It was Miss 
 Rapson who first suspiciously sounded Miss Summers 
 about Sally. "Do you think she's deep ?" she asked. 
 
 Now that Miss Summers had more to do, Sally was 
 very useful to her. Also, Sally came to admire Miss 
 Summers more than ever. She might be funny, with 
 her eternally cold nose and her catlike appearance, but 
 she was an extraordinarily capable woman. She rose to 
 emergencies, which is the sign of essential greatness. Not 
 once did Sally see Miss Summers lose her nerve. True, 
 there was no need for diplomacy or large generalship; 
 but when work has to be arranged so that all customers 
 are satisfied, not only with its quality but with the 
 promptness of its delivery, a good deal of skill and man- 
 agement is required. It was forthcoming ; and Sally was 
 at hand to give important aid. The weak spot in the 
 government of the business seemed to be Gaga, who be- 
 trayed incessant vacillation, and came in so often to con- 
 sult Miss Summers that she became quite rufifled and 
 indignant with him. "Such nonsense!" she would say 
 to Sally. "A grown up man like that asking such silly 
 questions. Why a girl would do it better." She had all 
 the capable woman's contempt for the average member 
 of her own sex. "Girls!" she would sniff. Shrewdly, 
 Sally watched the comedy ; but for all her shrewdness she 
 never quite understood the cause of Gaga's weakness. 
 It was that Madam had insisted upon early obedience in 
 days when Gaga's precocious ill-health made him pliable; 
 and a docile child becomes a tractable boy and finally a
 
 128 COQUETTE 
 
 man who needs constant guidance. Sally only saw the 
 last stage. She nodded grimly to herself one day. "Wants 
 somebody to look after him," she said. "Somebody to 
 manage him." With one of her unerring supplements, 
 she added confidently: "I could manage him. And look 
 after him, too, for that matter. Poor lamb !" 
 
 The extra work kept Miss Summers and Miss Rapson 
 late almost every evening, and Sally also stayed, so that 
 in the evenings she often saw Gaga. She even, once or 
 twice, when Miss Summers had gone to consult Miss 
 Rapson (who stood upon her dignity and kept to her 
 own room), sought pretexts for going into the room 
 where Gaga was. She went in to look at the Directory, 
 or she pretended that she had supposed Miss Summers 
 with him; and on these occasions she stood at the door, 
 and talked, until Miss Summers' imminent return made 
 her fly innocently back to her seat. She enjoyed observ- 
 ing Gaga's pleasure, and even excitement, at her ap- 
 proach. It gratified her naughty vanity and her impulse 
 to the exploitation of others. One evening when she had 
 thus stolen five minutes, she found Gaga ruffling his hair 
 over an account, and at his great sigh of bewilderment 
 she turned from the book she was needlessly consulting. 
 
 "Got a headache, Mr. Bertram?" she timidly and com- 
 miseratingly asked. 
 
 Gaga looked up at her gratefully, a comic expression 
 of dismay upon his face. The books lay before him upon 
 the table, and an account had been transferred from one 
 to another. A litter of papers was also there. He was 
 in the last stages of perplexity. 
 
 "No," he said. "It's this account. I can't make it out. 
 See if you can." 
 
 Sally went and stood close to him, leaning over to 
 examine the books, so that his shoulder touched her side. 
 She knew that the contact thrilled him, and for an instant
 
 GAGA 129 
 
 was so occupied with the recognition that she could not 
 collect her thoughts. He had been adding up in pencil 
 on a sheet of paper the two series of entries, and there 
 was a discrepancy between them. Sally checked his fig- 
 ures : there seemed nothing wrong with them. She her- 
 self added the two series of entries. Then, with a point- 
 ed finger she counted the entries. One of them had been 
 omitted. Another examination showed which of them it 
 was. She had solved his mystification. Her small fore- 
 finger pointed to that entry which accounted for the dif- 
 ference in the two casts. Gaga looked up at her in won- 
 dering admiration. 
 
 "What a marvellous girl you are!" he impulsively 
 ejaculated. "I've been worrying over this for ten min- 
 utes. Thank you. Er thank you." 
 
 Still she did not immediately leave him, and he made 
 no attempt to move. It would have been the easiest thing 
 for Gaga to encircle her with his arm, but he did not do 
 so. At last Sally started away. 
 
 "I must go," she said breathlessly. 
 
 "Thank you, Miss Minto. I'm . . . I'm so much . . . 
 obliged," stammered Gaga. She was at the door. "Oh, 
 Miss Minto . . ." Sally turned, a mischievous expec- 
 tancy upon her face. "Er . . ." Gaga swallowed. A 
 faint colour rose to his grey cheeks. "I say, I wish you'd 
 come out to dinner with me. I ..." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Bertram," murmured Sally. "It's very kind 
 of you. I ..." 
 
 "Do come. I'm ... so much obliged to you, you 
 know. I mean, I ..." 
 
 Sally gave a quick nod. She peeped to see that Miss 
 Summers had not returned. 
 
 "Well, you see," she said. Then : "All right, I will. 
 Thank you very much." 
 
 "To-night? In half an hour? Splendid. I'l be at
 
 130 COQUETTE 
 
 the corner of the street. Just outside that big corner 
 place. Thank you. That'll be fine." He was jubilant. 
 Sally went back to her place with her mouth puckered 
 into a curious smile that nobody could have understood. 
 She felt that she had embarked at last upon the inevitable 
 adventure with Gaga, and her sensation for the moment 
 was one of pure triumph. A moment later, triumph was 
 suffused with a faint derision. She thought how easy it 
 was to handle Gaga. She felt how easy, how temptingly 
 easy, it would be always to handle him. But all the same 
 she was rather excited. It was the first time she had 
 been out to dinner with a man. She knew he would look 
 handsome and like a gentleman ; she knew he would have 
 plenty of money. She was glad to think that she was 
 wearing her newest frock, the smartest she had. Well, 
 she demanded of herself, why not? It'll please him, or 
 he wouldn't have asked me! Would they have wine to 
 drink? she wondered. A momentary self -distrust seized 
 her in the matter of table-manners ; but she shook it off. 
 She would watch what Gaga did. She musn't drink too 
 much. She must mind her step. Then, irresistibly: 
 "What a lark !" murmured Sally. She was very demure 
 upon Miss Summers' return, and listened with equanim- 
 ity to a few remarks made by Miss Summers as to the 
 capacity of Miss Rapson. In reality her thoughts were 
 occupied with speculations as to the entertainment which 
 lay ahead. So Gaga had never given Rose anything; 
 more fool Rose! Rose! She didn't know how to man- 
 age a man ! She didn't know anything at all. She had 
 been born pretty, and she thought that was all you had 
 to do. Sally had not been born pretty; she had had to 
 fight against physical disadvantages. It had taught her 
 a great deal. It had taught her the art of tactics. Sally 
 was very much wiser than she had been a year earlier. 
 She had learnt immeasurably from her contact with
 
 GAGA 131 
 
 Toby. She had kept her eyes open. She was unscrup- 
 ulous. It was of no use to be scrupulous in this world; 
 you lost all the fun of the fair. Sally was hilarious at 
 her own irreverent unscrupulousness. 
 
 Half an hour later she slipped out, and along the 
 street. Gaga was waiting. He raised his hat a thing 
 Toby would never have done if he had left her so re- 
 cently and fell into step beside her. Sally shot a bright 
 eye full of assurance. As Gaga showed himself nervous, 
 so her assurance increased. 
 
 "Where would you like to go?" asked Gaga. 
 
 "Oo, you know better than ... I do," answered 
 Sally, meekly. He stopped for a moment; then turned 
 eastward; then stopped afresh, hesitating until Sally 
 slightly frowned. 
 
 "Yes, we'll go to the Singe d'Or," he explained. "Un- 
 less you . . . No, we'll go to the Rezzonico. You'd 
 like to have music, I expect. You know, it's awfully 
 good of you to come. I've wanted to talk to you ever 
 since I heard you sing so beautifully." 
 
 The Love Path ! Sally gave a start. What had Mrs. 
 Perce said ! Sally might not have a fortune in her voice, 
 she mischievously thought ; but at least she had a dinner ! 
 Well, master Toby ; and what did he think of that, if you 
 please? 
 
 "I'm very fond of music," she said, glibly. 
 
 "I could tell . . ." There was a pause. "Do you . . . 
 do you sing much?" 
 
 "No, not much." Sally was speaking like a lady. 
 "Ai . . . a . . don't get very much taime. I'm very 
 fond of. It's so ... it's so. . . ." She was rather lost 
 for a phrase that should sound well. 
 
 "Quite, quite," agreed Gaga, eagerly. 
 
 "I wish I could play," Sally hurried to say, feeling that 
 she had failed in effectiveness. He was loud in protest
 
 132 COQUETTE 
 
 against her modesty. "Well, I mean, I've never well* 
 hardly ever had any lessons. No, nor my voice. It's 
 
 just ear. Mrs. P a friend of maine says I've got a 
 
 very quick ear." Every now and then Sally was betrayed 
 into Nosey-like refinement. She fought against it 
 from an instinctive feeling that it was meretricious. But 
 at the same time she was speaking with instinctive care, 
 so as to avoid Cockney phrases, and pronunciations, and 
 tones. She wanted him to think her something that she 
 called "nice." They walked the length of Regent Street, 
 chatting thus; and at last reached the gilded Rezzonico, 
 where there were liveried men who seized Gaga's hat and 
 stick, and maitres d'hotel who hurried them this way and 
 that in search of a table in the crowded, din-filled room. 
 The walls were covered with enormous mirrors which 
 were surrounded by gaudy mouldings. Tables were 
 everywhere, and all appeared to be occupied. Men and 
 women in evening dress, men and women in morning 
 clothes, some of the women painted, others ordinary re- 
 spectable v members of the bourgeoisie, were sitting and 
 dining and smoking and chattering loudly. Glasses, cig- 
 arettes, bottles, all sorts of dishes, strewn upon the tables, 
 caught Sally's bewildered eye. Above all, a scratching 
 orchestra rasped out a selection from one of Verdi's 
 operas. A huge unmanageable noise of talk and laughter 
 swelled the torrent of sound. Deafened, her nerve de- 
 stroyed, Sally timidly followed the apparently aimless 
 wanderings of Gaga and the maitres d'hotel, her shoul- 
 ders stiff with self -consciousness in face of so many star- 
 ing eyes and well-fed, well-dressed creatures; and at last 
 they found a table. It was a bad table, in the middle of 
 the room, near the band and the cash desk and a sort of 
 sideboard into which bottles were ceaselessly dumped. A 
 very old waiter, with white side whiskers like those of 
 the late Emperor Franz Josef, very foreign and therefore
 
 GAGA 133 
 
 particularly liable to misconstrue Gaga's stammered 
 orders, served them with hors d'oeuvres, slashing down 
 upon Sally's plate inconceivable mixtures of white and 
 red and green fragments ; and then hurried away as fast 
 as his bunions allowed. Gaga was left to choose the wine, 
 which he managed to do after many consultations with 
 Sally and the waiter, and many changes of mind upon 
 his own account. Sally riddled all his uncertainties with 
 a merciless eye. He apparently knew a wine-list when 
 he saw one ; but his nervousness was so palpable that she 
 was inclined even to suspect his knowledge. It was an 
 injustice. She soon realised that the band was too noisy 
 for talk, and the sideboard too shattering even for co- 
 herent thought. She knew, in fact, at the first encounter, 
 that this was a bad table, and that bad tables were to be 
 avoided by any expert eye. She knew the waiter was a 
 bad waiter, and that Gaga was a bad host. She had her 
 first lesson in the art of dining out at a restaurant. 
 
 But she dined! She drank more wine than she had 
 intended to do, and it went to her head. She laughed, 
 and became talkative, forgetting her refined accent, and 
 thereby enjoying herself very much more than she would 
 otherwise have done, and becoming a good and lively 
 companion for the meal. Gaga could not respond to her 
 talk, because it quickly became evident that, with all the 
 good will in the world, he could not talk ; but as the wine 
 reached his head also he began to laugh at her remarks, 
 and to look at her with such an expression of adoration 
 in his chocolate eyes that Sally grew more and more at 
 ease and more and more familiar with the passing of each 
 minute, and the increasing effect of the wine she had 
 taken. She sparkled, less in her speech than in her ex- 
 hilarated and exhilarating manner. She was all nerves, 
 all dancing coquettry. 
 
 "Don't look at me like that!" she pleaded, archly.
 
 134 COQUETTE 
 
 Gaga's eyes glowed, and his mouth was stretched with 
 laughing. "Make me feel as if . . ." 
 
 "How do I look at you? How does it make you feel?" 
 asked Gaga with that kind of persistent seriousness with 
 which a man talks to a pretty girl when he has drunk 
 enough wine. "Tell me, Sally, how does it make you 
 feel, Sally?" He reached his hand across the table, and 
 laid it upon hers. "I mean, Sally ... I mean, if it 
 makes you feel . . . I'm sorry, d'you see ? I look at you 
 as I feel. I don't know how I look at you. I look at 
 you . . ." 
 
 Gaga was not at all drunk ; he was merely sententious 
 and sentimental. Sally darted a roguish eye, first round 
 her, and then at Gaga, enjoying very specially this stage 
 of the meal. It was all fun to her, all flattering to her 
 vanity, all a part of the noise and excitement and well- 
 being that was making her spirits mount. She allowed 
 her hand to remain under his for a moment; then tried 
 to draw it away; then pinched his thumb gently and re- 
 covered her liberty. Gaga was unlike Toby. He had not 
 the assurance of the physically vigorous. He was gentle, 
 mild, stammering, and ineffective. But he was giving 
 Sally a glorious evening's entertainment. At one step 
 they had overleapt all that separated them, and were 
 friends. He began to tell her, unasked, about his busi- 
 ness, about his mother, about everything. 
 
 "My mother's a wonderful woman," he said. "Won- 
 derful! She's made that business with her own hands. 
 She began in a small way, and the business is almost out 
 of her control. Not quite; but . . . She's done it all 
 herself. All herself. Wonderful woman. And yet, you 
 know, Sally; she's hard. I wonder if you understand 
 what I mean? She's always been a good mother to me. 
 I wish I could tell you how good. There's the business 
 I'm in, for example. But Sally . . . I'm not a business
 
 GAGA 135 
 
 man. ... If I had somebody to do the business side, 
 I've got ... I can design dresses. That's what I'm good 
 at. She knows. She lets me design them, sometimes. 
 I've got a touch, d'you see? But she's hard. She's so 
 afraid of anybody meddling. She's made that business 
 herself, and she won't let anybody else touch it. She has 
 me to help her with the accounts ; but, as I say, I'm not a 
 business man. She thinks I'm a fool. You don't think 
 I'm a fool, do you, Sally?" 
 
 "Me? You?" cried Sally, looking at him guilelessly. 
 "Mr. Bertram!" 
 
 "She's very ill, Sally. Very ill indeed. I can see it. 
 You know, you feel something. You see her keeping on 
 and keeping on. Something's bound to go, sooner or 
 later. It worries me, Sally. It worries me." From his 
 long and unusually consecutive speech, Gaga fell into a 
 silence. Meaninglessly, he repeated: "It worries me. 
 That's one reason I asked you to come out to-night, Sally. 
 I'm worried." 
 
 "Poor man !" murmured Sally. 
 
 "You know, you're kind, Sally. I can see your little 
 bright eyes shining; and they make me . . . they make 
 me . . ." He was once again the old, incoherent Gaga, 
 fingering his unused cheese knife and looking-at her with 
 an expression of pathetic helplessness that made Sally 
 wary lest she should betray amusement. "I feel you 
 understand. You're not very old, Sally; but I feel you 
 understand. And . . . I've always felt that. You're 
 such a wonderful little girl. I mean . . ." He broke 
 off with a gesture of vague despair of his power to say 
 what he actually did mean. "I feel you can help me." 
 
 "Can I ?" asked Sally, swiftly. "I'd love to." 
 
 "Would you really?" Gaga's tone was a fresh one, one 
 of hope and light. 
 
 "Course I would," responded Sally. Already she was
 
 136 COQUETTE 
 
 aware of practical advantages. Her heightened spirits 
 were sobered immediately. But her face did not betray 
 this. Her face continued the demure face of a young 
 girl, not from any artfulness, but because she was in fact 
 a demure young girl, and her hidden mental calculations 
 did not yet show in her habitual expression. 
 
 "You'll be friends with me?" Gaga said, as though h* 
 asked a great favour. 
 
 "If you'll let me," answered Sally, as though she con-* 
 ferred one. 
 
 The movement of hands was almost simultaneous, but 
 it began with Sally. Gaga clasped her left one in his 
 right. Only for a minute. Then Sally could not resist 
 a giggle, and the compact was unsignalised. They talked 
 further, Sally once again in a state of delight, and Gaga 
 inclined to be repetitious. And then, as it was nine 
 o'clock, Sally said she must go. He saw her to her omni- 
 bus, and they parted as friends. From her seat inside, 
 as the bus moved off, Sally waved to him ; and afterwards 
 settled down to the journey, full of memories and reflec- 
 tions of a curious and enchanting character. Not of 
 Gaga were these reflections, save with an occasionally 
 frowning brow of doubt; but of the remarkable vista 
 which had been opened by his demand for friendship and 
 help. An excited recollection of the lights and the mir- 
 rors and the overwhelming noise of the restaurant intoxi- 
 cated her afresh. Her whole face was shining with ex- 
 citement. She smiled to herself, occupied with such a 
 mixture of sensations and imaginings that at one mo- 
 ment she wondered whether she was Sally Minto at all, 
 and whether some magician had not changed that Sally 
 for a new creature born to spend her days in gaudy res- 
 taurants and among all the noise and luxury of such a 
 life as she had led this evening for an hour and a half. 
 
 One moment at home was enough to convince Sally
 
 GAGA 137 
 
 that no magician had been at work. It was the same 
 squalid house, and the same squalid room that she 
 reached after the splendour of her dinner. And it was 
 the same fretful mother who complained of her lateness 
 and chided her for the dangers she ran in being about 
 the streets so late. Sally made no answer. She looked 
 in the mirror at the dilated pupils of her glowing eyes, 
 and at her flushed cheeks and laughing lips ; and her heart 
 first sank and then violently rebelled against the contrast 
 of this hideous place with the light and colour she had 
 left. She was a rebel. The contrast was too great. How 
 could she live in a room like this? How could anybody 
 live? It was not life at all, but a mere grovelling. And 
 Sally had tasted something that thrilled her. She had 
 come into contact with a life resembling the life led by 
 those who travelled in the motor broughams she so much 
 admired. She was ravenous for such a life. Her nat- 
 ural arrogance was roused and inflamed by the compari- 
 son she so instinctively made between her natural sur- 
 roundings and those to which she felt she was entitled 
 by her capacities. She thought with contempt of the 
 other girls at Madame Gala's. The wine she had drunk, 
 the noises she had heard, mounted higher. She was 
 primed with conceit and excitement. Hitherto she had 
 only determined by ambition to use the world and attain 
 comfort and success. Now she felt the power to attain 
 this success. She could not experience the feeling with- 
 out despising every other feeling. She looked round the 
 room in scorn at the dull, shabby bed, and the meagre 
 furniture, and at the little old woman who sat by the 
 empty fireplace with so miserable an air of confirmed 
 poverty. She looked higher, at Miss Jubb, and saw 
 afresh the stupid incompetence of such a creature. Even 
 old Perce and Mrs. Perce led in her new vision a life that 
 was good enough for them, but not good enough for
 
 138 COQUETTE 
 
 Sally. There was a better way, and Sally would not 
 rest until she had secured that way. And she had the 
 opportunity opening to her. Gaga had shown her as 
 much. With the vehement exaggeration of youth that 
 is still half-childhood, Sally saw her own genius. She 
 felt that the world was already in her grasp. She felt 
 like a financier before a coup. She felt like a commander 
 who sees the enemy waver. For this night triumph 
 seemed at hand, through some means which the heat of 
 her brain did not allow her to analyse, but only to relish 
 with exultation. 
 
 In the morning Sally had a heavy head as the result 
 of her unusual entertainment, and she awoke to a sense 
 of disillusion. The room was the same ugly room, but 
 her dreams had fled. So must Cinderella have felt upon 
 awaking after her first ball. The colours had faded ; the 
 rapturous consciousness of power had died in the night. 
 Sally felt a little girl once more, younger and more impo- 
 tent than she had been for months. The walk to Regent 
 Street restored her. She once again imagined herself 
 into the talk with Gaga; she stressed his offer of friend- 
 ship and his plea for help. It would be all right ; it was 
 all right. She had made no mistake. Only, she was not 
 as carelessly happy as she had been in the first realisation. 
 She had recognised that the battle was not yet won, and 
 that much had still to be done before she could claim the 
 victory which last night had seemed in her hands. At all 
 events, hatred of her little ugly home was undiminished. 
 She felt horror of it. 
 
 Arrived at the work room, Sally saw it in a new light. 
 She was permanently changed. The girls had become 
 nothing; even Miss Summers had become a very good 
 sort of woman, but subtly inferior. There was not one
 
 GAGA 139 
 
 of the girls who could help Gaga as she was going to do ; 
 not one of them who could earn the advantages which 
 Sally was going to reap. She settled almost with impa- 
 tience to work which last night had been left unfinished. 
 All the time that she was engaged upon it her thoughts 
 were with other prospects, other deliberate intentions. 
 She was restless and uneasy first of all until she had 
 seen Gaga and gauged her effect upon him in the morn- 
 ing's grey, finally because another secret conflict was go- 
 ing on beneath her attention. She did not understand 
 what she was feeling, and this made her the more easily 
 exasperated when cotton knotted or a sudden noise made 
 her head throb. "I'm out of sorts," she thought. She 
 tried to laugh in saying: "The morning after the night 
 before." Her malaise was something more than that. 
 
 Gaga came into the room during the morning, haggard 
 and anxious-looking. The lines in his pallid face were 
 emphasised; his eyes had a faintly yellowish tinge like 
 the white of a stale egg. In shooting her first lightning 
 observation of him Sally clicked "Bilious." There w?/> 
 a little smile between them, and Gaga went out of the 
 room again, languid and indifferent to everything that 
 was occurring round him. Sally had an impulse to find 
 some reason for going into his room, but she did not dare 
 to go. She sewed busily. Perhaps she would see him 
 later. She peeped into the room at lunch-time, but he 
 was not there, and in the afternoon she heard from Miss 
 Summers that he was unwell, and would not be coming 
 back that day. She heard the news with relief; but also 
 with sudden fright. If if if he should have become 
 afraid of her! If he should have repented! If, instead 
 of allowing her to help and to benefit, Gaga should be- 
 come her enemy! Men were so strange in the way they 
 behaved to girls so suspicious and funny and brusque 
 that anything might have happened in Gaga's mind.
 
 140 COQUETTE 
 
 Sally recollected herself. This mood was a bad mood: 
 any loss of self-confidence was with her a sign of tempo- 
 rary ill-health. She magnificently recovered her natural 
 conceitedness. She was Sally. 
 
 In the evening she went home early, to her mother's 
 interest and pleasure; but there was nothing to do at 
 home and the atmosphere was insufferable. It drove her 
 forth, and she walked in the twilight, longing for Toby 
 to be with her. He would not have understood all she 
 was thinking he would angrily have hated most of it 
 but his company would have distracted her mind and oc- 
 cupied her attention. She thought of Toby at sea on 
 this beautiful evening, with the stars pale in an opal sky; 
 and she could see him standing upon the deck of the 
 "Florence Drake" in his blue jersey without a hat, with 
 the breeze playing on his crisp hair and his brown face. 
 A yearning for Toby filled her. Tears started to her 
 eyes. She loved him, she felt, more than she had ever 
 done: she needed him with her, not to understand her, 
 but to brace her with the support of his strong arms. 
 Sally dried her eyes and blew her nose. "Here!" she said 
 to herself. "Stop it! I'm getting soppy!" 
 
 She presently passed the ugly building of a .board 
 School, not the one which she had attended, but one 
 nearer her present home. Outside it, and within the 
 railings protecting the asphalted playground from the 
 footpath, was a notice-board upon which was pasted a 
 bill advertising the evening classes which would be held 
 there during the Autumn Session. Idly, Sally stopped 
 to read down the list of subjects and the first that 
 caught her eye, of course, was dressmaking. She gave 
 a sniff. Funny lot of girls would go to that. Girls trying 
 to do Miss Jubb out of a job. Sally glimpsed their ef- 
 forts. She had seen girls in dresses which they had made 
 themselves. Poor mites ! she thought. Paper patterns for
 
 GAGA 141 
 
 somebody twice their size, and bad calculations of the 
 necessary reductions. Tape-measures round their own 
 waists and twisted two or three times at the back, which 
 they could not see. Blunt scissors, clumsy hands, bad 
 material. ... It was a nightmare to Sally. She did 
 not go far enough to imagine the despairs, the aching 
 hands, the tears, which attended the realisation of an 
 evening's botch. She was not really a very humane per- 
 son. She had both too much imagination for that in- 
 firmity of the will, and not enough. She passed from 
 dress-making to the other subjects. 
 
 There was one that made her jump, so much did it 
 seem to be named there for her own especial benefit. It 
 was "Book-keeping." Sally was taken aback. She 
 scanned the details. Two lessons a week, on Mondays 
 and Thursdays, at eight o'clock. A disdain filled her. 
 She would not be as the other girls. She would learn 
 book-keeping. She would understand figures. Then she 
 could help Gaga with precisely that work which he con- 
 fessed himself unable to do. Sally memorised the details. 
 It was enough ; she was ready for anything. As the fol- 
 lowing Monday was the first night of the session she 
 would be present then. 
 
 And so, her ambition mounting once more to arro- 
 gance, Sally returned to bed and her mother, and bread 
 and margarine, and the dingy room on the second-floor- 
 back. 
 
 xi 
 
 The book-keeping class was held in one of the ordinary 
 classrooms, separated from others by high partitions of 
 wood which were continued to the ceiling in panes of 
 glass. The room was filled with forms and desks, but 
 the class was so small that all those composing it (and 
 there were fewer still after the first six lessons) were put
 
 142 COQUETTE 
 
 into the first two or three rows of desks. The teacher 
 was a little sandy man who made well-trodden jokes and 
 talked in a wheezy voice well suited to his appearance. 
 He used the blackboard, and stood upon tiptoe to scrawl 
 upon it in a large handwriting. That was at the begin- 
 ning. Later, methods developed; but for the present 
 Sally and the others were merely initiated into the first 
 movements of the difficult craft. With amazement she 
 began to learn the mysteries of the signs "Dr." and 
 "Cr.", the words "Balances", "carried forward", etc., 
 and the meanings of such things as ruled diagonal lines. 
 It was to her like the game of learning chess, and she had 
 the additional pleasure of knowing that with the solution 
 of each problem she was adding appreciably to her knowl- 
 edge, and to a knowledge which henceforward would not 
 be wasted, as she could turn it, as of all things she most 
 desired, to immediate use. Madam's accounts would no 
 longer be a source of trouble or bewilderment to her. She 
 knew very soon that they would be mere child's play to 
 her instructed intelligence. 
 
 From the teacher and the lessons, Sally turned to her 
 fellow pupils. There were about twenty of these, the 
 sexes almost equally represented, but with the girls in a 
 slight majority. One or two of the young men were 
 pale and spectacled, and so they did not interest her. The 
 girls were generally of a higher class than her own, were 
 obviously already employed as clerks in offices, and were 
 rather older than herself. They were the daughters of 
 tradesmen or clerks, and all lived at home in the better 
 streets of the neighbourhood. They were neatly dressed, 
 but she was easily the smartest of the audience. The 
 other girls looked at her hair and her complexion, and 
 then at each other ; and a feud began. Sally was consoled 
 by the evident interest of the young men, who often cast 
 glances in her direction. She sat demurely, as if uncon-
 
 GAGA 143 
 
 scious, but in her wicked heart there was glee at the 
 knowledge that this same young person Sally, once the 
 despised companion of May Pearcey, had in a year at- 
 tained such new charm as to be attractive to these young 
 men. She shrugged her shoulders at the thought of it. 
 Had she been an onlooker she would have been amused 
 or cynical. As she was the cynosure of the emotional 
 eye of the whole class she could view the natural pro- 
 cesses of all such gatherings with satisfaction. Her 
 shrugs were for the respectable and alienated girls, who 
 were like sparrows chattering over a brilliant intruder; 
 to the young men she offered an air of imperviousness 
 to their cajoleries which made her seem to at least three 
 of them a young person whom it might be pleasant and 
 titillating to know. The general arrangement of feel- 
 ings towards her was evident at the third lesson. By the 
 fourth it had taken a quite definite form. She had ex- 
 changed conversation with the three men : she had smiled 
 provokingly at the girls. The girls mentioned her at 
 home, and to their friends; the young men did not men- 
 tion her to anybody. 
 
 The men were all older than she, were in employment, 
 and although some of them were still at home the ma- 
 jority of them were in lodgings in Holloway, were lonely, 
 and were desirous of improving their positions. This 
 was the case with Sally's three admirers. Of the three, 
 her immediate favourite, because he most nearly resem- 
 bled Toby in physical type, was a thickset dark young 
 man with a budding black moustache and polished eyes 
 and a strong pink upon his cheekbones. But after she 
 had looked at him a few times she decided that he had 
 Jewish blood, and Jews were among her aversions. So, 
 although his name was Robertson, she passed him over 
 in favour of a tall, rather bony fair youth of about three 
 and twenty with smooth hair and a lean, conceited hu-
 
 144 COQUETTE 
 
 morous face. He had assurance, which she adored, and 
 his great length made it queer to be talking to him, be- 
 cause she had to look high up to see his face. He always 
 wore a light-coloured tweed suit, and a knitted tie of 
 about ten different colours, and his aquiline nose and 
 jaunty manner gave him an air of knowingness which 
 she much appreciated. He was a stockkeeper in a pub- 
 lishing house, and came from the South of England. His 
 voice was light in tone, and he had a delightful burr. 
 This young man, Harry Simmons, became her friend, 
 and soon walked part of the way home with her after 
 each lesson. He talked politics to her, and explained all 
 sorts of things which she had never before known. He 
 told her how books were made, and how they were de- 
 livered unbound in great bales; and when she said "a 
 book" meaning "a paper," he corrected her. Sally liked 
 him. Of the three men she now knew well he was the 
 best-informed. Accordingly she learnt more, intellec- 
 tually, from him than from either of the others. He 
 quickly fell in love with her, which was an added pleas- 
 ure ; and she once or twice let him kiss her, without prom- 
 ising anything or revealing the existence of Toby. She 
 never kissed Harry in return, a fact which she cherished 
 as a proof of her innocence. But she liked him very much, 
 and told him more about herself than she had ever told 
 anybody else. And as there is nothing like the use of 
 such care and such flexible and uncertain kindness, when 
 it is not calculated, for tantalising a young man who is 
 agreeably in love with a young girl, Sally had a new de- 
 light, a new self-flattery, to cosset. The affair did not 
 become very desperate in Harry's case he was too con- 
 ceited, and he knew the rules of the game too well and 
 at length it subsided normally; but it lasted pleasantly 
 and instructively enough for perhaps four months, and 
 the memory for both was one of smiling amusement,
 
 GAGA 145 
 
 untempered by chagrin. Sally's one dread in the whole 
 course of her friendship with Harry was a dread lest 
 Toby should see them together. That Harry should see 
 her with Toby she did not mind, because she could at any 
 time have relinquished Harry without a qualm; but she 
 loved Toby, and took care to keep secret from him on 
 their infrequent meetings anything which might disturb 
 his ardent thoughts of the little girl he had left at home. 
 
 So book-keeping went on. And so Harry went on. 
 But by now Sally's interests had become many, for she 
 was leading a busy life, and the difficulty of maintaining 
 all her affairs at the necessary pitch of freshness and 
 importance in her attention was increasing. She had to 
 think of her work, of Madam and her now frequent fits 
 of illness, of Gaga, of Miss Summers, of money, of 
 Harry, of book-keeping, of clothes, and of her mother. 
 Mrs. Perce she rarely saw during this period, because as 
 Sally found new preoccupations she was bound to shed 
 some of her old ones. She thought very nicely of Mrs. 
 Perce; but she had at the moment no time for her. Mrs. 
 Perce belonged to a passing stage, and had not yet a 
 niche in the new one. Toby she saw still more seldom 
 than anybody; but for Toby Sally's feelings underwent 
 no obvious change. They developed as her character 
 matured, but they did not alter. She embraced him, as 
 it were, with her mind. Toby was somehow different 
 from all the others. He was a part of herself. She did 
 not know why, but he stood alone, whenever she thought 
 of him, wonderfuly strange, and strong, and enduring, 
 as much Toby as she was Sally. She did not fear him. 
 In some ways she despised him, for being so little pliable, 
 so little supple in his way of managing the world. But 
 she adored him as a man, and as a simple-minded baby 
 who unerringly made her happy by his assurance, and 
 delighted her by behaving as though she was something
 
 146 COQUETTE 
 
 belonging solely to himself. So long as she was confident 
 that about nine-tenths of her life was outside the range 
 of Toby's understanding, Sally enjoyed his delusion. It 
 gave her such a sense of superiority that she relished her 
 submission to his will in all trifles. She never felt that 
 his absences made him a stranger. Rather, she felt that 
 they increased and intensified her love and her desire for 
 him. These at least were unabated more ardent than 
 ever. And the absences certainly made Toby all the more 
 boisterously glad to see her whenever he returned from 
 a voyage, and more demonstratively affectionate when 
 they were alone together. 
 
 xii 
 
 Madame Gala had returned to work and Gaga had 
 gone into the country by the time Sally had joined her 
 book-keeping class; and so that matter seemed to be in 
 abeyance. The ease with which the fabric of her newest 
 plan had been made to collapse discomfited Sally, who 
 was always impatient for quick results; but she did not 
 abandon hope. She believed in her star. She had seen 
 very little of Gaga since their dinner. He had avoided 
 her, with some tokens of slight constraint, although his 
 greetings had been almost furtively reassuring. That 
 alone would have made her believe that he had not for- 
 gotten his promise. Sally bade despair stand back. Al- 
 ways, hitherto, she had found her own level: she would 
 do it again in this instance. She had the grit of the am- 
 bitious person who succeeds. Hers was not a vague or 
 unwarrantable conceit : she would work for its fulfilment. 
 It is the mark of the great. 
 
 While she was waiting, she one day received a letter 
 from Toby, announcing his imminent arrival in London. 
 He would wait outside Madame Gala's, and they would
 
 GAGA 147 
 
 spend his leave together. It was now the beginning of 
 October, and a fine Autumn had begun. The days, al- 
 though rapidly growing shorter, were warm and cordial. 
 They were better than the summer days. There was a 
 crispness in the air, but there was no chill. Filled with 
 pleasure, Sally wore her prettiest clothes that morning, 
 and Toby was waiting in the sunshine at the corner of 
 the street, and they met with light hearts. It was just 
 one o'clock. At once they found a tea-shop, and had 
 lunch; and then Toby sprang upon her a proposal that 
 they should go to Richmond for the afternoon, and to 
 Brighton the following day. He appeared to have plenty 
 of money for both jaunts. He had planned them as soon 
 as he knew the date of his arrival. 
 
 "O-o-o!" cried Sally. "Brighton! The sea! Will 
 you take me out in a boat ? Better not : I should be sick. 
 Take me on the river this afternoon, instead. No : we'll 
 just walk in Richmond Park. Ever been to Kew, Toby? 
 The girls say it's lovely there. What's Brighton like? 
 I went there once when I was a kid. Wasn't half fine. 
 Wliat d'you do there ? Sit on the beach and throw stones 
 in the water? We might paddle. Like to see me pad- 
 dling ? What time do we start ?" 
 
 "Here, hold on," said Toby. They were walking to 
 catch a Richmond omnibus. "You ask a lot of questions 
 and don't wait for no answers. I say . . . look at that 
 young woman there. . . . Look at her!" 
 
 "Well ?" demanded Sally. "It's only because her shoes 
 don't fit. She doesn't know how to wear high heels. 
 That's all it is. That frock cost a bit." 
 
 "Did it?" Toby jerked his head. "Well, you ought 
 to know, I suppose. It's not as smart as yours." 
 
 "D'you like it, Toby?" asked Sally, eagerly. He had 
 never said anything before about her clothes. She was 
 suddenly sportive with pride in his interest.
 
 148 COQUETTE 
 
 Toby nodded. He had been betrayed into his speech 
 of approval. It was not natural to him. 
 
 "It's all right," he nonchalantly said. "I've seen 
 worse." 
 
 Sally shook his arm, provoked by a variety of feelings. 
 She loved him to tease her. How strange! She felt a 
 hundred years older than Toby, and yet she felt like a 
 little girl. And when she was with him she did not have 
 to mind her tongue, but could be as slangy and as natural 
 as she pleased. Toby did not know any better. She had 
 not always to be thinking, with him, of what a real lady 
 might be expected to say. He was a relaxation for her. 
 
 "That's right," she said. "Flatter me. Make me get 
 swelled head. Don't think of the consequences. Ladle 
 it out. Tell me I look a little princess." 
 
 "No, Sally. I wouldn't do that," answered Toby, pos- 
 sessively. "I don't want you to get above yourself. 
 You're a bit uppish as it is. Noticed it? Well, I have. 
 And that's a thing I want to talk to you about." 
 
 "Oh," said Sally in a dangerous tone. "What is? 
 Look, there's a bus!" 
 
 With Sally's nimbleness and Toby's muscle they ob- 
 tained seats upon the top of the bus, and, seated together, 
 resumed their conversation in low, grumbling tones. She 
 first repeated her question with new aggressiveness, not 
 at all deterred from the possibility of a row by her delight 
 in Toby's company. 
 
 "About you," said Toby. "You see, smartness is all 
 very well; but if you're going to be a sailor's wife you got 
 to look where you're going. Now, your last letter. It 
 said you was being a good girl,, and taking evening 
 classes that's because I told you my aunt see you out 
 with a fellow one night, coming from the schools. Now 
 what the Hell's the good of evening classes to a sailor's 
 wife; and who is this fellow aunt seen you with?"
 
 GAGA 149 
 
 "I suppose even a sailor's wife wants to know how to 
 cook," remarked Sally. 
 
 "Oh, cooking," grimly said Toby. "Does the fellow 
 learn cooking, too?" 
 
 Sally was impudent. She was enjoying herself. She 
 was rejoiced that he should be so jealous and authori- 
 tative when she knew that she could always play with 
 him. 
 
 "I don't know which fellow your aunt saw," she an- 
 swered flippantly. "There's so many of them at the 
 classes. I can't tell which it might be. Did she tell you 
 what he was like?" 
 
 "She told me you was arm in arm." 
 
 "That's a lie," said Sally, curtly. "Nosey old cat. She 
 never saw me arm in arm with anybody. And even if 
 I had been, what business is it of hers? What does she 
 know about me ? About me and you ?" 
 
 "She see us last time I was home. See us twice. 
 That's why she told me about you and this other fellow. 
 See? She says that girl I see you with seems to have 
 got another young man light come, light go." 
 
 "O-o-oh!" Sally gritted her teeth. "I would like 
 to have your aunt by the back hair, Toby! Old cat! 
 She's made it up, I expect. Interfering old beast ! But, 
 after all, there's a lot of fellows at the class, and we all 
 come out together, and sometimes they walk a bit of the 
 way home with me. That's all it is. Nothing to make 
 a fuss about. I'm not a nun, got to pass men by on the 
 other side of the road, am I ?" 
 
 "Well, I won't have it!" cried Toby, restless in his 
 seat. His dark face was darker. There was a red under 
 his tan, and a gleam of his teeth that made him like an 
 angry dog. "And that's enough of it. I won't have it. 
 You belong to me. See? And if I catch another fellow 
 nosing round I'll split his head open. Damned sauce 1
 
 150 COQUETTE 
 
 Just because I'm away, you think you can go marching 
 about. . . ." 
 
 He sulked for several minutes, frowning, and biting a 
 torn thumbnail. 
 
 "What you done to your thumb?" demanded Sally, 
 taking it quickly between her own fingers. Toby made 
 no answer, but, very flushed, drew his thumb away. With 
 her chin a little out, and an air of quietly humming to 
 herself, Sally looked at all the shops and houses upon 
 their route, and at the people walking sedately upon the 
 pavements. As it was Saturday afternoon, many of the 
 West End stores were shuttered; but as the bus went 
 farther west, and into suburban areas, there was great 
 marketing activity. Sally watched all the people and 
 observed all the shops with an absorbed childish interest 
 that was almost passionate in its intensity. She took 
 no notice of Toby for a quarter of an hour. He might 
 not have been there. This was his punishment for being 
 outspoken and suspicious. She was not going to have 
 that sort of thing from anybody. But if Sally was super- 
 cilious, Toby was stubborn. Once his grievance had been 
 voiced, and had been taken flippantly, he was reduced 
 to glowering. At Sally's continued disregard, and after a 
 going over in his own mind of all they had said, Toby 
 began to feel uncomfortable. He began to feel a 
 fool. At the precise moment when his sensation of fool- 
 ishness was strongest upon him, Sally turned and slipped 
 her arm within his, and pressed his elbow warmly against 
 her side. They did not speak; but peace was made. 
 Presently Sally began to draw Toby's attention to things 
 they passed, and although at first he was surly in his re- 
 sponses, Toby was gradually and surely appeased by her 
 masterly handling of him. He was not free from sus- 
 picion she did not want him to be, because it enhanced 
 her value; but he was dominated by her cajolery.
 
 GAGA 151 
 
 When they arrived in Richmond, and had climbed the 
 hill, and had looked down from the Terrace Gardens 
 upon that lovely piece of the Thames which is to be seen 
 from the height, Sally and Toby walked arm in arm 
 about the Deer Park. They saw the leaves falling, quite 
 yellow, although the trees were still dense with foliage; 
 and the crisp air exhilarated them. In the sun it was 
 hot and dazzlingly bright. 
 
 "Tell me about what you've seen, Toby," suddenly 
 asked Sally. 
 
 "Seen?" Toby fumbled a minute in his mind. "What 
 d'you mean seen?" 
 
 "At sea, and when you go ashore. You know. Ships 
 and places." 
 
 Toby looked puzzled. "Well, what's there to tell?" he 
 questioned. "A ship's a ship. You wouldn't understand 
 if I was to tell you I'd seen a schooner, or a barque, or 
 a cattle-boat, or a dinghy." He was rather lofty. "I 
 mean, you wouldn't know." 
 
 "How do you know, then ? How can you tell the differ- 
 ence?" she persisted. 
 
 Toby laughed at the fact that she had not recognised 
 how he had slipped in the dinghy among recognisable 
 ships. He had supposed everybody knew what a dinghy 
 was. He pointed that fact out to Sally, who could not 
 see that she had betrayed such glaring foolishness. 
 Pressed to confine himself to comparable vessels, Toby 
 condescendingly resumed : 
 
 "It's a question of the size, and the rig . . . All that." 
 He was elaborately the expert, sure that an amateur could 
 never understand. Sally might have retorted with baf- 
 fling words about seams and camisoles and voile ; but she 
 was shrewd in mystic silence. "You'd have to see the 
 ships . . . Then I could point it all out to you. I mean, 
 a gunboat or a cruiser or a trawler . . . What I mean,
 
 152 COQUETTE 
 
 they're different. See a big liner going out from Liver- 
 pool: I tell you, it's a sight. Flocks of people, and the 
 old thing moving along like grease. Leaves you standing. 
 At first you don't half feel a fool. But on a boat like 
 ours there's no time to look about. We're under-manned. 
 That's what it is. Not enough of us to make it light for 
 everybody. Ought to be altered. Got to be doing chores 
 the whole time. Swabbing down, cooking " 
 
 "Can you cook?" Sally was swift, arch, incredulous. 
 
 Toby grinned. Then he remembered her classes her 
 "cooking" classes and his aunt's message, and grew sud- 
 denly serious. 
 
 "Look here, Sally. That cooking. I don't like them 
 other fellows," he said. "I mean to say, meeting them 
 at classes, and walking home, and that." 
 
 Sally held his arm tightly. A look of scorn appeared 
 upon her face. In her heart a feeling arose of impatience 
 and amused enjoyment of his concern about a thing that 
 was to her so trivial compared with her love for himself. 
 
 "You going to begin that again?" she demanded. 
 "Silly. Here, put your face down. There ! D'you think 
 I don't love you. Think I don't believe you're worth ten 
 of those others? Well, I do. And that's enough of that.'* 
 
 Toby was obstinate. He wanted her to be his property. 
 Nevertheless, his tone was milder. 
 
 "It's not right, Sally, you going about with other fel- 
 lows. What I mean, you think it's all right, but what do 
 they think?" 
 
 "I don't care what they think. I don't care what any- 
 body thinks, except you. And if you don't trust me, 
 well ..." 
 
 Toby was manifestly terrified at the removal of her 
 arm from his. He caught it again, but she wrenched 
 free. For a few moments they walked along together in 
 dead silence, gloomy and disunited. Toby clenched his
 
 GAGA 153 
 
 fists. He looked about him, and uneasily rocked his head 
 and cleared his throat. Sally knew that he was reassuring 
 himself by saying internally that if that was the tone 
 she was going to take . . . 
 
 "You see . . ." he began. 
 
 "Oh, shut up!" cried Sally, savagely. "I've had 
 enough of it." A moment later he heard a little sob from 
 her, and moved close, overcome with his consternation. 
 At his touch she started away. Here it was that Toby's 
 physical strength served. He was easily able to put his 
 arms round her, and hold her closely. A voice from the 
 faintly struggling Sally wailed : "You don't trust me . . . 
 You'd better get some other girl . . ." 
 
 "I do! I do!" Toby swore. "Damn it all, Sally. I 
 mean to say . . ." 
 
 "Bring me out . . . make me miserable . . ." came 
 the strangled little voice. 
 
 Toby was conquered. Sally knew that she had him at 
 her mercy. She had known it all along. She had been 
 enjoying herself, enjoying this second quarrel as much 
 as the first one, because she knew exactly what the out- 
 come would be. A quarrel is always worth while to a 
 loving girl, for the sake of the reconciliation. They were 
 the sweetest moments of the day, because in them was 
 begun the true softening of hearts and rousing of the 
 emotions which later gave them so much delight. Toby 
 and Sally were happy all the rest of the afternoon and 
 evening, and loved one another; and when it was dark, 
 and none could observe them, Toby kissed Sally with all 
 the fervour that he had saved up in his long days away 
 from her. He kissed her lips and her cheeks and her 
 eyes, and crushed the life out of her with his powerful 
 arms. And Sally, at first laughing, had grown quieter 
 and quieter in his arms as her joy in his love had deepened. 
 They stood there, far above the river, in the gloaming,
 
 154 COQUETTE 
 
 with the leaves whispering and slowly floating down 
 through the air as they fell from, above. Presently the 
 moon rose, and in the moonlight the two wandered to- 
 gether, and forgot all their plans and ambitions and 
 jealousies. Both were given over entirely to the moment, 
 and to the passion of the moment, which was still as 
 strong as it had ever been. 
 
 xni 
 
 A fortnight passed. Gaga came and went. Sally had 
 no word with him, because he could not speak to her in 
 the workroom or in his mother's room, and because she 
 never met him (as she half expected to do) in the street. 
 Sally often thought of their evening together, but grad- 
 ually, as Gaga took no further step, she became sceptical 
 about his plan, and she hardened towards him. Already 
 her active mind was casting about for new outlets. She 
 visited Mrs. Perce, and repaid ten shillings of the amount 
 she owed her. She wrote to Toby, walked with Harry 
 Simmons, had conversations with Miss Summers and 
 Muriel and Mrs. Minto. And so the days passed. But 
 at length Gaga took the awaited step. He met her one 
 evening, as if by accident, upon the stairs, and immediate- 
 ly stopped. She had gone past him when Gaga found 
 his tongue, and checked Sally's progress by a stammer- 
 ing. She waited. 
 
 "Er ... I never . . . see you now," he began. Sally 
 looked up at his tall figure, thrown sharply into relief by 
 the clear light from a window upon the stairs, and by 
 the pale grey distemper of the wall behind him. Again 
 she noticed that creeping redness under the grey of his 
 cheeks, and the almost liquid appeal which he directed at 
 her. "I ... er ... I meant to ask you . . . Tomor- 
 row . ."
 
 GAGA 155 
 
 "Oh, thank you, Mr. Bertram! I'd love to," cried 
 Sally, quickly. He was passionately relieved, as she could 
 see. Not only by her acceptance of his intended sug- 
 gestion, but at the salvation of his tongue. 
 
 "At the corner? Seven o'clock? At the corner? 
 Where . . . where . . . where we met before? Really? 
 Fine!" He nodded, and took off his hat, and climbed 
 the stair. Sally, very sedate, descended. Well, she was 
 still all right, then. How strange, she was quite cool! 
 She was not at all elated ! That was because of the delay, 
 which had encouraged indifference; but it was also be- 
 cause the invitation was expected and because Sally was 
 no longer to be shaken as she would have been by a 
 novelty. She was ready. She was once again a general 
 surveying the certainties of combat with a foe inferior 
 in resources to herself. 
 
 So the next evening she deliberately stayed later than 
 the other girls, and worked on with a garment which had 
 occupied her attention all the afternoon. She was doing 
 some plain embroidery upon a silk frock. It was upon 
 this occasion that she received a great mark of favour 
 from Miss Summers. Miss Summers, trusting Sally en- 
 tirely, showed her how to lock the door after her. She 
 had just to slip the catch, and slam the door, and nobody 
 could enter the room without first using a key. And Miss 
 Summers went, leaving Sally alone in the workroom. It 
 was a thing hitherto unknown. It showed trust which 
 had never been given to one of the other girls. Apart 
 from Madam and Gaga, if one or both of them should 
 still be working in Madam's room, Sally was at liberty, 
 and in sole occupation of the establishment. It did not 
 occur to Sally to think so; but Miss Summers would 
 never have given her this privilege if she had not known 
 that Madam also would approve. It would have been 
 too dangerous a responsibility for Miss Summers un-
 
 156 COQUETTE 
 
 supported. Madam must have seen that petty theft was 
 a thing which did not tempt Sally. She was too am- 
 bitious for that, and obviously so. Keen judge of char- 
 acter as Madam was she must have known it all. But 
 neither Madam nor Miss Summers could have realised 
 as both, with their experience of girls, should have done 
 that there were possibilities other than theft. Sally had 
 listened to the explanation of the door catch, and had 
 promised to shake the door when she left, so as to make 
 sure that it was fast ; but her only conscious thought had 
 been one of surprise and delight that she should be left 
 alone. Alone to do as she pleased. Alone to sing, dance, 
 loiter. Alone, perhaps, with Gaga. At that notion she 
 had a curious little thrill of excitement. Her eyes be- 
 came fixed for a moment. She did not speak, or give 
 any other sign. She was not thinking. Merely, her 
 general awareness was pierced by a sudden ray. 
 
 Had she been sure that Gaga was by himself in the 
 next room, Sally would have found some excuse to go 
 in there. It would have been such an opportunity as she 
 had never had before. But although she went close to 
 the door, and listened eagerly, there was no sound within. 
 The room might have been empty. Or Madam .might 
 be there; and if Sally sang, which would please Gaga, 
 Madam might come out, find her in the workroom with- 
 out real excuse, and give her the sack. Sally was too 
 wise to believe that in such a case Gaga could save her. 
 She could imagine him stammering a defence, and being 
 crushed, and perhaps being kind to her for a little while 
 and fussing about to find her a job elsewhere. And 
 that would be the end of that. She neither sang nor 
 whistled. Every now and then she again listened, until 
 she was impatient with uncertainty. Her impatience 
 made her laugh. Fancy being impatient for seven o'clock !
 
 GAGA 157 
 
 And for Gaga! It wasn't natural. It was like Gaga 
 himself ridiculous. 
 
 Seven o'clock struck before she was ready; but Sally 
 did not care. She had no objection to the thought of 
 Gaga waiting in patience at the corner of the street. 
 Toby would have been a slightly different matter. Not 
 that she was more afraid of Toby now than she was of 
 Gaga. All the same, she would not have kept him waiting. 
 Neither Toby nor Gaga would have kept Sally waiting. 
 Toby would have been punctual; Gaga had been stand- 
 ing at the corner already for five minutes. It was a 
 curious moral effect that Sally had. She was not to be 
 treated lightly. Even now, she was learning her power, 
 and in this case she was illustrating it. She did not 
 join Gaga until she was satisfied that every smallest fold 
 in her dress was in perfect order, her hat precisely at 
 the desired angle, her gloves buttoned. Then, shutting 
 the door with a steady bang which rendered any shak- 
 ing needless, she kept her appointment, not a timid dress- 
 maker's assistant, but a woman of the world. At seven- 
 teen for she had not yet reached her eighteenth birthday, 
 although it was now very near she was more of a 
 woman of the world than she would be at twenty-eight, 
 when her first intuitions had been blunted by actual ex- 
 perience. 
 
 Gaga was standing thoughtfully leaning upon his walk- 
 ing stick. His shoulders were bent, and the slim, and 
 rather graceful, outline of his figure made him appear 
 almost pathetic in his loneliness. Sally Sally the hard 
 and ambitious was struck by a sharp irritation and 
 pity, almost by compunction. She did not know what 
 her feeling for Gaga was; but principally it was com- 
 posed of contempt. He had good looks, and he had 
 money. He could help her at present as nobody else 
 could do. But at heart Sally dismissed him with a
 
 158 COQUETTE 
 
 word which, to her, was fatal. He was soppy. Not 
 mad, not altogether stupid, but painfully lacking in vital 
 energy and confidence. Of all things Sally best loved 
 assurance, and Gaga had none of it. He drooped in 
 waiting, and the message of his fine clothes was con- 
 tradicted by his pose, and not reinforced by it. 
 
 "I'm sorry I'm late," she said perfunctorily, at his 
 start of recognition and delight. Gaga's face changed 
 completely. From one of gloom, his expression became 
 one of joy. "I didn't notice the time. I was working 
 there alone Miss Summers had gone. I was finishing 
 something. I didn't know if you'd gone or not. I 
 couldn't hear anything from Madam's room. Didn't like 
 to knock, or anything." 
 
 Gaga said nothing. He walked by her side, and Sally 
 looked up at him almost as she might have done at a 
 policeman or a lamp-post. He was tall, she thought, 
 when he straightened his back. And he dressed like a 
 prince. At that instant she was proud to be walking by 
 his side. She thought: "I must look a shrimp beside 
 him ! Him so big so tall, and me so little. But I'm as 
 smart as he is, any day in the week. Wish he always 
 held himself up like that! What salmony lips he's got, 
 and . . . it's his long lashes that make his eyes look so 
 soft. Chocolate eyes . . . Funny! He's got a weak 
 chin. No, his chin's all right It's . . . you can't see his 
 jaw at all: goes right in, and gets lost. And a funny 
 nose got no shape to it. Just a nose." She had the 
 curiosity to wonder what his grey cheek felt like. She 
 would like, one day, to touch it with her finger, just 
 to see. It looked dry and soft. All this she glimpsed 
 and considered like lightning while they walked quickly 
 towards Piccadilly Circus; and her notions gathered and 
 .grew in Gaga's silence.
 
 GAGA 159 
 
 "Were you working?" Sally presently asked, trying to 
 say something to begin a conversation. 
 
 Gaga shook his head, stealing a shy glance down at her. 
 
 "No. Not working," he said. "I had rather a head- 
 ache, so I went for a walk in the Park." 
 
 "Oo. Sorry you've got a headache." Sally uncon- 
 sciously became sympathetic. "Is it very bad? It's 
 nerves, I expect. If you're nervous you have splitting 1 
 headaches. My mother's always talking about her head 
 She gets so tired, you know; and it goes to her head; 
 and she sits still and can't think about anything else, 
 Is ... is Madam quite well now? She was looking so 
 ill . . ." 
 
 Gaga became mournful. The mention of his mother 
 always, it seemed to Sally, made him miserable. Silly 
 Gaga ! He then did something which had an impercepti- 
 ble effect upon Sally's thought of him. It was a mistake, 
 because it illustrated his lack of initiative and his power- 
 lessness to strike out a fresh path. He made straight 
 for the Rezzonico again. He ought to have taken Sally 
 to another restaurant ; but he instinctively took her to the 
 place where they had dined happily before. In that he 
 betrayed to her merciless judgment the fact of his inex- 
 perience. Silently, they entered the big dining-room. The 
 band was not playing at the moment, and, as they were 
 early, the room was less full than it had been upon the 
 first occasion. The enormous mirrors reflected their hesi- 
 tating movements. Gaga made his way vaguely towards 
 their former table; but Sally laid a hand upon his arm. 
 It was time for her to take command. Into her expres- 
 sion there crept the faintest hardness, almost a tough as- 
 surance, that was tinged with the contempt which was her 
 deepest feeling for Gaga. 
 
 "Couldn't we get a table against the wall . . . down 
 there?" she demanded, pointing.
 
 160 COQUETTE 
 
 It was done. They were installed, and a young and 
 rapid waiter was attending to them. This time Sally 
 helped to choose the dinner. She could not read the 
 menu, because she knew no French; but the waiter, with 
 an uncanny insight, realised that he would do well to 
 address her and to explain the dishes to Sally instead 
 of to Gaga; and so, to the relief of all three, they were 
 quickly served, and wine was brought, and Sally began 
 to feel creeping upon her all the old pleasure and ex- 
 citement of noise and wine and an intriguing situation. 
 Her hardness vanished. She sat almost with complacency, 
 breaking her roll with two small hands, and looking at 
 Gaga with that thin little grin which caused her meagre 
 face to be so impish and attractive. The brilliant lights 
 which made Sally more and more piquante had a ghastly 
 effect upon Gaga. His grey cheeks were cruelly be- 
 trayed. 
 
 "I'm afraid mother's . . . mother's not what she 
 ought . . . I'm afraid mother's ill," began Gaga, stam- 
 mering. Then, impulsively : "I say . . . I'm so glad you 
 came tonight. I ... I've been you know, my head 
 I've been miserable, and . . . I've been bad-tempered all 
 day. But I'm better now. Couldn't help . . . feeling 
 better, seeing you there ..." 
 
 Sally grinned again. If her cheeks had been plumper 
 he could have seen two dimples ; but all that was observ- 
 able was the row of tiny pointed teeth that made her smile 
 so mischievous. Sally's eyes looked green in the electric 
 light green and dark and dangerous, like deep sea; and 
 her pallor was enhanced, so that she was almost beautiful. 
 There was something both naive and cat-like in her man- 
 ner, and the tilt of her head. She surveyed Gaga with 
 eyes that were instinctively half-closed. She could de- 
 lightedly perceive the effect she was having upon him. 
 He sometimes could not look at her at all, but fixed his at-
 
 GAGA 161 
 
 tention upon his plate while she was speaking, or no 
 higher than her neck when he was himself as he rarely 
 did making an attempt to entertain. And all Gaga's 
 hesitations and shynesses made Sally amused and sure 
 of herself, and she began to take pleasure in dominating 
 him. When she found that Gaga not only did not resent 
 this, but was pleased and thrilled by her domination, 
 Sally grew triumphant. She chose the sweet for them 
 both, sweeping her eye down the prices and listening to 
 the waiter's translation of each title. She sipped her 
 wine with a royal air of connoisseurship. And she kept 
 such control of the situation that Gaga was afraid to 
 give words to the timid ardour which shone from his ex- 
 pressive glance. Sally was herself: it was still she who 
 conferred every favour, and not Gaga. 
 
 Presently she had a thought that whipped across her 
 mind like a sting. 
 
 "D'you know what I've been doing since we came here 
 before?" she demanded. "I've been taking lessons in 
 book-keeping. I'm getting on fine. The teacher says 
 I've got a proper head for figures. He says I shall be a 
 cashier in no time, and understand all that you can know 
 about accounts. Isn't that good? So I shall be able to 
 help you like you said . . ." 
 
 Gaga gave an admiring gesture. He was overwhelmed. 
 
 "Oh, but you're . . . marvellous !" he cried. "Simply 
 marvellous! Here's Miss Summers says you're the best 
 hand, for your age, that she's got . . ." 
 
 "Did she say that ?" Sally jumped for joy. "Really ?" 
 She gave a triumphant laugh, so naive and full of in- 
 genuous conceitedness that Gaga was overcome afresh 
 with admiration. 
 
 "You ought to have been two people," he answered. 
 "Two little girls." 
 
 "Half a dozen!" Sally proclaimed. "You see, I'm it
 
 162 COQUETTE 
 
 sounds conceited, and I expect I am; but it's true; I'm 
 clever. I'm not soppy. Other girls Rose Anstey . . . 
 They're soppy. They can't do anything. I can do all 
 sorts of things because I'm clever I can sew, and . . . 
 you know, all sorts of things." 
 
 Gaga glowed at her words. 
 
 "I know," he eagerly agreed. "That's why you're so 
 wonderful. Most girls can only do one thing. They 
 can't even do that very well." 
 
 ''That's true. Takes them a week to do it; and then 
 somebody has to do it over again for them. They haven't 
 got any brains. They got no sense. They don't think." 
 Sally was impetuous. 
 
 "They've got no brains at all," said Gaga. "They're 
 like vegetables." Both laughed, in great spirits and 
 familiarity. "Well, Sally . . . My mother's . . . She's 
 a wonderful woman, too. She's been marvellous. Mar- 
 vellous ! She must have been like you . . ." 
 
 Sally shrugged. 
 
 "Bigger than me," she murmured, brooding upon an 
 unwelcome comparison. 
 
 "No. Not bigger. She's nearly three times as old 
 as you. My father died, you see ... I was a child. 
 She had to make a living. Had to." 
 
 "So have I got to," whispered Sally. "I got no father; 
 and mother's in her second childhood." 
 
 Gaga stopped. He looked at her. A singular expres- 
 sion crossed his face. 
 
 "Now, you have to," he said. "Er, I mean . . . Well, 
 . . . you won't always." 
 
 "Mean, I'll marry?" demanded Sally, sharply. "Give 
 it all up to cook the dinner and wash the front step?" She 
 shrugged again. 
 
 Gaga reddened slightly. 
 
 "I ... I didn't think you'd do that," he said, hesi-
 
 GAGA 163 
 
 tatingly. "I only meant . . . What I wanted to say . . . 
 mother's not well. She's ill. She's really ill. She'll have 
 to take a holiday. I wonder ..." His hesitation was 
 more prolonged than usual. He became as it were lost 
 in a kind of doubtful reverie. Sally could not tell whether 
 he was thinking or whether the wheels of his mind had 
 altogether ceased to revolve. His mouth gaped a little. 
 At last he concluded : "I wonder if I could ... if I could 
 borrow you from Miss Summers. If she'd mind. If 
 she'd let you go." 
 
 There was a silence, while both thought of this possi- 
 bility. 
 
 "Look here," cried Sally, confidently. "Like this eve- 
 ning, Miss Summers left me there all alone. I mean 
 to say, she didn't mind. She wouldn't leave any of the 
 other girls like that; but she left me. She knew it was 
 all right. Well, I wouldn't mind stopping in the eve- 
 mings and helping you. I'd like to. I'm quick. I could 
 get through a lot of work." 
 
 "Oh, but it wouldn't be fair," he objected. 
 
 "Why not? I'd love it. See, I'd get overtime." 
 
 Sally was really prompting Gaga in this last sentence. 
 He frowned, and moved one of his long hands impatient- 
 ly across some crumbs which lay before him on the 
 table. 
 
 "Oh, money . . ." he said. "More than overtime. 
 We'd ... I say, it's splendid of you. It's a splendid 
 way to do it." 
 
 "Would you like it?" breathed Sally, her heart beat- 
 ing faster at the implication. Gaga reddened. His lips 
 were pressed together. 
 
 "It would be perfect !" he cried, vigorously. 
 
 "How lovely!" Sally's face broke once more into that 
 expressive grin. They sat smiling at each other, almost 
 as lovers do who have stumbled upon an unsuspected
 
 164 COQUETTE 
 
 agreement in taste. The mood lasted perhaps a minute. 
 Then it changed ever so slightly. "Would Madam 
 mind?" next urged Sally. 
 
 Gaga's face clouded. She was watching him breath- 
 lessly, and saw his fists clenched. His tongue moistened 
 the lips so lately compressed. His head was inclined. 
 At last, dubiously, he spoke. 
 
 "I wonder," he muttered. "I haven't said anything to 
 her. I don't think . . ." His face fell still more, until 
 it was undetermined. "I'm afraid . . . I'm afraid . . . 
 perhaps she mightn't like it. You see, she's . . . she's 
 . . . rather . . . She doesn't like anybody . . . She 
 mightn't quite . . . understand." 
 
 Sally's contentment vanished abruptly. Her heart be- 
 came fierce, and her tone followed. It was rough and 
 hard, with a suggestion of despair and of something less 
 than respect for Gaga. 
 
 "It's no good !" she cried. "It's no good. I'm a girl. 
 Girls can never do anything! A man can do all sorts of 
 things ; but, just because she is a girl, a girl can't do one 
 of them!" 
 
 She was watching him all the time she was speaking, 
 and only half realised that her indignation was warmly 
 simulated in order to produce an effect upon him and 
 stiffen a wavering determination. For a moment Gaga 
 did not speak. He was turning the matter over in his 
 mind, and Sally saw the changes of opinion that passed 
 across his face. Weakness, submission, obstinacy, be- 
 wilderment were all to be observed. Above all, weak- 
 ness ; but a weakness that could be diverted into defiance 
 through dread of her own contempt. The moment was 
 desperate. Tears sprang to Sally's eyes. She became 
 tense with chagrin and stubbornness. A gesture would 
 have swept her wineglass to the floor. 
 
 "Never mind!" she cried, savagely, now really moved
 
 GAGA 165 
 
 to anger and despair. "You see how it is! I always 
 knew it wouldn't be any good. Knew it! Oh, I ought 
 to have . . ." 
 
 Gaga was roused. His voice, when he spoke, was 
 strangled. 
 
 "Don't be silly!" he cried. "We'll do it ... er ... 
 we'll . . . somehow we'll do it." Sally waited, her 
 anger cooling, a hope rising once again in her breast. 
 Cruel knowledge of him surged into her thoughts. At 
 last the determination she desired came from Gaga. He 
 said, in a grim tone : "She needn't know. We won't tell 
 her." 
 
 Sally's eyes closed for a moment. As if she had willed 
 this, she had attained her end. No longer was there to 
 be any doubt. They had an understanding. They were 
 going to do something together which must be kept secret 
 between themselves. She did not make even a tactical 
 display of unwillingness. She too greatly desired the end 
 to endanger (though it should be to confirm) her aim 
 by any further display of finesse. It was enough. She 
 was hot in her glimpse of the triumph she had secured. 
 She would be able to stay. The rest of their evening 
 was now unimportant, because they had need only to 
 speak of details, and of matters unconnected with the 
 plan, 
 
 xiv 
 
 Upon the day following this dinner and momentous 
 conversation, Sally was working listlessly amid the hum 
 of girls' chatter, which proceeded unchecked while Miss 
 Summers was out of the room, when she had a singu- 
 lar knowledge of something in store. She was struck 
 almost by fear. Quickly she looked up, and across at 
 Rose Anstey, and beyond Rose to the. door of Madam's 
 room. Miss Summers stood in the doorway, smiling, and
 
 166 COQUETTE 
 
 beckoning to Sally. Smiling so it could not be any- 
 thing . . . Madam wanted Sally; but Madam would not 
 tell Miss Summers . . . Had she found out about Gaga? 
 Sally's heart was like lead. But Miss Summers was smil- 
 ing kindly and significantly, which she would not have 
 done if she had thought the interview promised to be un- 
 pleasant. Besides, Gaga had said Miss Summers called 
 Sally her best worker. It was nevertheless a nervous girl 
 who went into the room, heard the door close behind her, 
 and found herself alone with Madam. 
 
 The room was that tawny one in which Sally had first 
 seen Madame Gala. It was lighted by one large window, 
 and it was not really a large room, although it contained 
 Madam's enormous table and a bureau and a number of 
 shelves upon which reference books stood. It was very 
 quiet and cool in summer, and warm in winter; and 
 Madam sat at her writing desk in a stylish costume un- 
 concealed by any overall. Seated, she did not look so 
 terrifyingly tall; but her faded eyes had still that pierc- 
 ing scrutiny which had disturbed Sally at the first en- 
 counter. Her face was lined; her hair bleached and 
 brittle ; but the long thin nose, and hard thin mouth, and 
 parched thin cheeks all gave to her glance a chilling qual- 
 ity hard to endure. Her hands were those of a skeleton: 
 all the bones could be seen white under the cream skin. 
 Sally, abashed and full of flutterings of secret guilt, stood 
 before her as she might have stood before one omniscient; 
 but her brain was not abashed, and her hearing was as 
 strained as her alert wits. So the two hard personalities 
 encountered. Presently Madam smiled a smile that was 
 tortured, like Gaga's, and showed anaemic gums but a 
 row of astonishingly good teeth. 
 
 "Sally," she said. "Sit down there, will you. Now, 
 you've been here nearly a year. D'you know that ? You 
 were seventeen when you came. You're eighteen now."
 
 GAGA 167 
 
 "Nearly," interjected Sally. 
 
 "Well, when you came you had seven shillings a week. 
 We're going to make it ten shillings from now. And of 
 course overtime as usual. You understand that I don't 
 want you to talk outside about your wages. At the 
 end of what we call the financial year we may be able to 
 give you more. I can't promise that. But Miss Summers 
 tells me that you are a good and willing worker; and I 
 can tell for myself that you are intelligent. I think it 
 will be worth while for you to stay here; and if you 
 go on as you have begun I shall hope to keep you. Now 
 don't get the idea that you're indispensable. Don't get 
 conceited. But be encouraged by knowing that I take an 
 interest in you. That will do, Sally, thank you. . . ." 
 
 "Thank you, Madam," responded Sally, demurely. She 
 stood in an attitude of humility, a tremulous smile of 
 candid satisfaction playing round her mouth. 
 
 Nobody in the workroom could have guessed from her 
 manner the turbulence of Sally's emotions. Pleasure, re- 
 lief, self-confidence struggled within her. She felt an 
 enormous creature surveying a pigmy world; and yet, 
 mechanically, she resumed her sewing at the point where 
 she had left it. The other girls all turned inquisitive 
 faces in her direction. Was it the sack? A row? A 
 rise ? Nothing at all ? Sally was a baffling creature . . . 
 a white-faced cocket. She was deep. That word of 
 Miss Rapson's had entered the hearts of the girls. Sally 
 had heard it ; she knew that they felt her superiority, and 
 gaped at it with faint resentment. A flash told her now 
 that they were all on tiptoe, and her nonchalance was 
 a piece of acting which she enjoyed for its effect upon 
 the others. She most mischievously enjoyed her privilege. 
 And she had a new cause for triumph, a double success. 
 She felt herself a schemer, an intriguer, which she was 
 not. She was merely an opportunist, seizing the main
 
 168 COQUETTE 
 
 chance. Not only had she a secret understanding with 
 Gaga; she had also a secret understanding with Gaga's 
 mother. She was most marvellously Sally Minto. The 
 world was open to her. It was not the extra three shill- 
 ings a week that intoxicated her: it was the sense of a 
 difficult and engaging future. Her ambition had never 
 been so strong. She turned her thoughts to the miserable 
 room at home, to her mother, to Mrs. Perce. She wan- 
 dered afield to the dinners with Gaga, to her recent talk 
 with Madam. Not merely wealth, but power, seemed 
 to lie ahead. She saw once more Madam's bad health; 
 the probable exaltation of Miss Summers. If she took 
 care, she would presently lie in the very heart of the 
 business. Its accounts would be under her hand in 
 the evenings ; its work visible to her eye in the daytime. 
 Miss Summers liked her and trusted her; she was sure 
 of her own ability, her own shrewdness; without deliber- 
 ately planning it, she had earned the good-will of the 
 three people who really mattered, so far as her progress 
 was concerned. 
 
 What if Madam were away ill? What if she died? 
 Sally trembled at the prospect. She trembled lest some 
 accident should interfere with what was otherwise in- 
 evitable. She knew that with Miss Summers she had no 
 rival ; her compact with Gaga was secure, unless his weak- 
 ness betrayed them. Even here, she knew she might rely 
 upon his integrity. Gaga would keep to his word. Sally 
 saw herself installed as bookkeeper oh, if she were only 
 older! If she were older, if she were twenty-five, she 
 would hold the business in the hollow of her hand. She 
 was already learning how to speak to the ladies who 
 came to give orders; her shrewdness would quickly show 
 her which were good accounts and which required watch- 
 ing; and her work never grew careless. With each per- 
 ception Sally's brain and her capacity for adapting her-
 
 GAGA 169 
 
 self to every circumstance seemed to expand. She was 
 already much older than her years. With a little more 
 experience she would be in a commanding position. But 
 Madam must be ill, Madam must . . . Madam must be 
 very ill; and yet not before Sally had made sure of 
 Gaga. Gaga was the key with which she would enter 
 into her proper sphere. He must be her mascot. 
 
 With her head bent Sally stitched busily on, never 
 allowing ambition to distract her from the immediate- 
 task. Baffled, the girls fell again to their work. That 
 Sally Minto was deep you couldn't tell what she was 
 doing, what she was thinking. She was deep. Under 
 her breath Sally was humming a tune, a familiar tune. A 
 slow grin spread over her white face, and faded again. 
 Looking up, she caught Miss Summers's eye, and smiled 
 faintly, gratefully, reassuringly. She recognised at once 
 how pleased and proud Miss Summers was at Sally's 
 progress. If her mind had not been so busy, Sally would 
 have felt a little warmth stealing into her heart; but she 
 was not aware of anything except Sally Minto and her 
 plans for worldly advancement. She for this moment 
 saw Miss Summers also merely as an instrument, a 
 plump, pussy-faced woman with an eternally cold nose 
 and a heart quick to respond to the best efforts of her 
 favourite hand. 
 
 XV 
 
 It was with a jump of excitement that Sally heard, in 
 the following week, that Madam was very ill indeed. 
 Gaga came in the morning with a haggard face, having 
 spent the night by his mother's bedside. He had a few 
 words with Miss Summers, who came out of the room 
 with a comically solemn look upon her plump face. She 
 made no remark to the girls, but at lunch time, when 
 the others were out, or were dispersed in the part of the
 
 170 COQUETTE 
 
 building where they were allowed to eat whatever they 
 had brought for lunch, Sally stole into Madam's room, 
 and found Gaga there, sitting at the desk with his hands 
 covering his face. When Sally approached him he did 
 not seem to have heard her, but continued sitting thus, 
 lost in a depressed stupor. Sally knew that there was 
 nobody in the room behind her: they were quite alone. 
 
 "Mr. Bertram!" she said, quietly. Still he made no 
 response. Her heart quickened. Was he asleep? Was 
 he was he dead? She took a further step, and then 
 spoke his name again. There was a slight movement. 
 He was awake, and merely very unhappy and perhaps 
 exhausted. With the slightest feeling of self-conscious- 
 ness she advanced to Gaga's side, and laid a hand upon 
 his shoulder. She could see the thinning hair upon the 
 top of his head, and the long slim fingers pressed to his 
 temples. 
 
 "Mr. Bertram, I'm so sorry," whispered Sally. Her 
 arm slipped farther round his shoulders, and her breast 
 was against his head, so gently pressing there that Gaga 
 was only conscious of the faintest contact. He relaxed 
 slightly, and his hands fell. Two gloomy eyes looked 
 up into Sally's face. She withdrew her arm, standing 
 now beside him, altogether apart. 
 
 "You made me feel queer," Sally went on. "Thought 
 you were in a faint or something. Are you ill ? Oh, say 
 something, say something!" 
 
 All Sally's little thin body grew rigid as she spoke, 
 for Gaga looked at her with an air of distraction. He 
 seemed not to recognise her. His eyes were yellow and 
 suffused, his mouth was open, his appearance that of one 
 who was hardly sane. 
 
 "I'm all right," came at last with an effort from his 
 dry lips. "All right, Sally. Only tired . . . ever so 
 tired." There followed a stiff attempt to smile, and then
 
 GAGA 171 
 
 his face was hidden once again by the long hands. "My 
 head's throbbing. It's like pincers in my head." 
 
 "Have you got any medicine?" she asked, quite moved 
 by his weakness. "Go out and get some. Quick! Get 
 a chemist to . . ." The head was slowly shaken. "You 
 ought to. You can't do anything if you're ill. Can't 
 do any work, or help Madam, or anything." 
 
 "Better presently," groaned Gaga. "That's . . . that's 
 all right, Sally. Good little girl to be so kind. I've been 
 up all night. She's very bad, Sally; very bad. I've been 
 up all night. Never mind; I'll be better presently." He 
 relapsed into his former comatose state, nerveless and 
 lethargic. 
 
 "You ought to get some sleep now. Go home to bed," 
 urged Sally. "It's no good trying to work if you're 
 sick. Go home now." She did not know how motherly, 
 how caressing and wise, her voice had become. She was 
 absorbed in his state of exhaustion and passivity. "It's 
 not right," she went on. "You can't do any good. Get 
 the doctor to give you something to make you sleep." 
 
 Gaga groaned again, still lost in his own sensations. 
 
 "No good," he murmured. "I can't sleep. That's 
 what's the matter. Nothing does any good. I can't 
 sleep can't forget. Only sit here like this, and feel 
 stupid. Never mind, Sally. Good little girl." He spoke 
 thickly, like a man who has been drinking; but he was 
 stupidly unshakable. She could do nothing with him. 
 Having withdrawn her arm she could not again lay it 
 upon his shoulders; but stood silent, feeling helpless and 
 on tiptoe, with a sense of strain. She was not miser- 
 able nor anxious about him; she could almost hear her 
 own voice, so nearly had detachment come upon her. 
 And with something like cramp in her limbs, and paraly- 
 sis of her ingenuity, she remained by his side, one hand 
 resting for support upon Gaga's desk. Presently he with-
 
 172 COQUETTE 
 
 drew one of his own hands, and patted hers; and as if 
 that released her Sally went very quietly back to the 
 workroom. There she saw two or three of the girls 
 busy reading a paper, and in a little while Miss Sum- 
 mers came back and work was resumed. By the time 
 Sally could again go into Madam's room Gaga had dis- 
 appeared, and they did not see him all the following day. 
 
 xvi 
 
 Two days later he returned, and dully went on with 
 his work as though it had no interest for him. Miss 
 Summers had several times to suffer the ordeal of de- 
 bilitating interviews; and towards the end of the after- 
 noon was exasperated to tears. Sally could tell this from 
 the sniffs and nose-rubbings that became more and more 
 frequent. Miss Summers's eye-rims were quite pink, 
 and her funny eyes were moist. She looked more than 
 ever like a disconsolate tabby, and her hands were rest- 
 less and clumsy. She had to ask Sally to thread her 
 needle, and even to finish work that she was doing badly 
 because of her agitation. 
 
 "Thank you, my dear," murmured Miss Summers. 
 "So kind." Then, in a low tone, "Do for goodness' sake 
 go in and see what Mr. Bertram's doing. He's quite 
 absurd, like somebody mad. He's not in his senses, that's 
 clear; and it's enough to drive anybody crazy." 
 
 Sally left the girls and slipped into Madam's tawny 
 room. At her entrance Gaga gave a start, and his ruler 
 fell clattering to the floor. But when he saw who was 
 there his face brightened. A faint smile spread across 
 the grey cheeks, making Gaga look so charming, in spite 
 of his illness, that Sally was unexpectedly relieved. Her 
 own smile was instantly responsive, and she stood almost
 
 GAGA 173 
 
 roguishly before him in her short frock, and the demure 
 pinafore which she was wearing over it. 
 
 "Miss Summers sent me," she explained. "Thought 
 you might want some help." 
 
 Gaga shook his head, the smile still apparent. He 
 shook his head again, trying to find words to express 
 himself, and failing. 
 
 "No, Sally," he at last ventured. "No help. I'm bet- 
 ter ... almost better, today. I can understand . . . 
 understand what I'm doing. I'm afraid ... er ... 
 afraid I was very stupid the other day. I've thought of 
 that since. Er . . . I say ... I wish you'd . . . come 
 out to dinner tonight." 
 
 "Really ?" Sally beamed upon him. She gave her little 
 grin, and nodded. "If you'd like me to, of course I will. 
 I'll be ready. Thank you very much." 
 
 Gaga made a heroic effort. He began to stammer, 
 checked himself, and at last succeeded in imposing coher- 
 ence upon his wandering words. 
 
 "It's you who . . . ought to be thanked," he answered. 
 "You cheer me up." 
 
 "Do I?" Sally's tone was eager, her reply instant. 
 "I'm so glad. I like to feel I ... you know, cheer you. 
 Does me good." 
 
 They exchanged shy smiles, and parted; Gaga to re- 
 sume his labours, Sally to report his increasing sanity to 
 Miss Summers. And then there followed the unwanted 
 hours that always lie between the making of a desired 
 appointment and the enjoyment of its arrival. Sally 
 stitched with a will, for her anticipations for this evening 
 were not of an ambitious kind. She knew all the time she 
 was working that she looked forward to the outing, 
 and she was not at all puzzled at her own expectancy, be- 
 cause in any case a dinner with Gaga would always make 
 a break in her often monotonous days and evenings. But
 
 174 COQUETTE 
 
 she could never altogether fail to make impulsive plans, 
 and it was as the result of unconscious reflection that she 
 checked Gaga in the course of their walk together. 
 
 "Don't let's go to the Rezzonico," she said, quickly. 
 "Let's go somewhere quiet.' 
 
 As a result, they turned eastward, into the region of 
 the smaller restaurants, and looked at several before Sally 
 picked one called "Le Chat Blanc." It seemed to her 
 to be the quietest and cleanest they had seen, and at any 
 rate it would be a new experience to dine there. The 
 doorway was modest, and the windows curtained low 
 enough (in a red and white check) to permit a glimpse 
 of the small but shining interior. Within, all was grey 
 and white. Sally led the way into the place, and to a 
 remote table, and seated herself with an air of confi- 
 dence remarkable in one who dined, as it were, for the 
 third time only. She glanced at the two waitresses 
 both very dark girls with earrings, who wore their black 
 hair coiffed high upon their heads. They were Italians, 
 agreeable and inquisitive; and the food-smells also were 
 Italian and full flavoured. As soon as the two were seated 
 they became the property of one of the two waitresses, 
 who stood over them so maternally that she seemed to 
 have no desire but for their good-fortune in choosing the 
 meal aright. She plunged both Sally and Gaga into a 
 muddle by her persuasive translations of the menu, but 
 she made up for her linguistic deficiencies by this anx- 
 ious interest and by a capricious smile. Scared aruj 
 curious, they looked round the plain grey walls of the 
 clean little room, and at the four or five other people who 
 sat near them, and at the ceiling, and at each other. 
 
 "It's funny!" whispered Sally, exultingly. "Never 
 seen anything like it." 
 
 "I ... I've never seen one ... so ... so clean,* 
 stammered Gaga.
 
 GAGA 175 
 
 Near them a conceited young man with a hard voice 
 and small eyes was talking impressively to an untidy- 
 looking girl in green with a maure chiffon scarf. While 
 he talked, the girl smoked his cigarettes, and interjected 
 remarks of superior quality. Sally heard her say "Ah," 
 in sign of agreement, and once "Oh, yes, of course Flau- 
 bert . . ." 
 
 "What's Flaubert?" she asked Gaga. He appeared 
 startled. 
 
 "Er ... I don't know," he answered. "What put it 
 into your head ?" 
 
 "That girl said it. Listen." They listened. The 
 young man was arguing about something. He was 
 arguing about something of which neither Sally nor Gaga 
 could discover the purport. Sally said: "They're both 
 woolly. Woolly-wits, they are. Both got maggots. 
 What's 'art,' anyway? Pitchers? And all that about 
 values ?" 
 
 Gaga was buried. He had a sudden inspiration. 
 
 "Don't listen to them," he said. "It's something they 
 . . . they understand." 
 
 "I bet they don't," remarked Sally. "You don't talk 
 about things you understand." 
 
 "Well, let's talk about what we don't understand . . ." 
 He was beseeching in his tone, and his soft eyes glowed. 
 The waitress approached, bearing two large plates piled 
 high with spaghetti." 
 
 "Golly !" ejaculated Sally. "Howjer eat it ? Fingers?" 
 
 They had little time to talk while they were engaged 
 with the capers of this surprising food; but when both 
 were tired of playing with the spaghetti they turned their 
 attention to the straw-covered bottle of Chianti which 
 had been brought. Sally made a wry mouth at her first 
 venture. She had yet to learn that the wine was heavier 
 than any she had yet drunk. She strained her ears to
 
 176 COQUETTE 
 
 catch more of what the fascinatingly conceited young 
 man was saying about his inexhaustible topic. Good- 
 looking boy, if he cut his hair and shaved his moustache 
 off. She saw Gaga look anxiously and wonderingly 
 across at her, with a kind of hunger; and she was shaken 
 by a mischievous notion. She had never done such a 
 thing before, but she put her foot forward so that it 
 touched one of his, and smiled right into Gaga's choco- 
 late eyes. The slow red crept up under his skin, and 
 they had no need to talk. Sally was laughing to her- 
 self, and eating some beautifully cooked veal, and she 
 knew that Gaga was glowing with contentment. She at 
 last observed the two talkers slouch out of the restau- 
 rant, the man in very baggy-kneed trousers and a loose 
 coat, and the girl in a dress of home make. A quick 
 wrinkle showed in Sally's grimacing nose as she brought 
 her professional eye to bear; and then the two talkers 
 were gone and were forgotten. Sally and Gaga were 
 quite alone at their end of the room, in a corner, favor- 
 ably remote for intimate conversation from the remaining 
 diners. 
 
 "Funny us not knowing what they were talking about," 
 mused Sally. "You don't, you know. It's very hard to 
 know what anybody talks about. To understand it, I 
 mean. Hard to know anybody, too." 
 
 "I shouldn't have thought I was hard to know," ven- 
 tured Gaga. 
 
 "I wasn't thinking about you," said Sally, with un- 
 conscious cruelty. "I was thinking . . . I've forgotten. 
 Isn't this wine sour! No, I'm getting used to it getting 
 to like it. Hasn't half I mean, it's got a nice smooth 
 way of going down." As Sally checked herself she real- 
 ised that she was now so much at ease with Gaga that 
 she no longer worried about her pronunciation or her 
 words when she was with him. Worry ? Sally's conceited-
 
 GAGA 177 
 
 ness soared into the air and frowned down upon the falter- 
 ing Gaga with something like scorn. Poor Gaga ! thought 
 Sally. Instantly her hardness returned, and she looked 
 at his lined face and the pale lips that hung a little away 
 from his teeth in sign of ill-health. She saw his dark 
 grey morning coat, and the slip inside the waistcoat, and 
 his sober tie. And it seemed to Sally that she saw right 
 into the simple mind of Gaga. He was so simple, like 
 the hire purchase system. He was about the simplest man 
 she had ever seen, for his tongue could hardly utter more 
 than the tamest of words and phrases, and he never 
 seemed to Sally to keep anything back. 
 
 "And yet, you know," she went on, following Gaga's 
 remark and this train of throught, "there's lots more to 
 know about people than just what you see and what 
 they do and say. If you know them ever so well, you 
 only know a bit of them. You don't know me. You 
 think I'm a little girl in the workroom, and a worker, 
 and all that." 
 
 "I think you're a marvel!" ejaculated Gaga. 
 
 "Yes, well, when you've got to the end of thinking I'm 
 a marvel, what happens ? You don't know me any better. 
 I might be a poisoner, or a ... or a ..." Sally's in- 
 vention failed her. "I might keep a shop, or serve a bar, 
 or be an actress," she went on, recovering fertility. "I 
 mean, in the evenings." 
 
 "Yes," said Gaga, dubiously. "I suppose you might." 
 He was struck with a rather superfine notion. "But 
 you're not," he concluded. He enjoyed a manifest tri- 
 umph. 
 
 "No." Sally raised a declamatory finger. "But if I 
 was, you wouldn't know it." 
 
 They had reached an impassable spot in their talk. 
 Sally had confounded Gaga. Neither he nor she was 
 quite as mentally alert as they had both been when
 
 178 COQUETTE 
 
 hungry; and the Chianti was beginning to make them 
 drowsy and rather slow-witted. But having embarked 
 upon the question of possible knowledge of character they 
 could not, in consideration of their slight heaviness, be 
 expected to relinquish a topic so circular and so sugges- 
 tive of personal intimacy. As the wine acted more power- 
 fully upon them it was more and more to themselves that 
 their thoughts and speeches turned. 
 
 "I feel sometimes that I'm a great fool," confessed 
 Gaga. "But I'm not really a fool. I see a lot, and . . . 
 I don't seem able to act on it. D'you understand what 
 I mean?" 
 
 "Weak," Sally vouchsafed, wine-candid. Gaga glanced 
 quickly at her. 
 
 "I don't think I'm weak. I ..." His thoughts 
 strayed. "See, I've never had much of a chance to show 
 what I can do. My mother's such a much stronger char- 
 acter than I am." 
 
 Sally nodded, and sipped again at the thick glass from 
 which she was drinking. 
 
 "I'm strong," she said. "I'm hard . . . tough. If I 
 make up my mind . . ." 
 
 "Yes. I'm like that," insisted Gaga. It was so pre- 
 posterous that Sally could only look measuringly at him 
 with a puzzled contempt that might have been read. 
 
 "I'm stronger'n you are," she answered. "I'm small; 
 but I don't mind what I do. You're a good boy. I'm not. 
 I'm bad. I'm . . . you don't know what goes on in my 
 head." Suddenly exasperated, she went on : "That's what 
 I meant. You think I'm just a quiet little thing. I'm 
 not. You don't know what I think about. I want to do 
 all sorts of things. I want to be rich, and have a good 
 time, and have lots of ... lots of power. I want to 
 get on. If anybody gets in my way I push 'em out of it 
 If anybody gets in your way you stand aside."
 
 GAGA 179 
 
 "I don't. I get my own way, but not by fighting,'* 
 Gaga said. 
 
 "Oho ! I don't fight," retorted Sally. "They're afraid 
 to fight me." 
 
 Gaga smiled. 
 
 "They're afraid of hurting you," he suggested. "But 
 I know just what you mean." His confidence was un- 
 shakable. 
 
 "I kick 'em in the stomach," Sally asserted. "Any- 
 where." 
 
 "Yes. They wouldn't take liberties with you." 
 
 "Not unless I wanted them to," said Sally, abruptly 
 sober. "They wouldn't try it on. None of the girls ever 
 worry me. When I first came they did. They were 
 saucy. I soon stopped that. I got a tongue, and they 
 found it out. Now Miss Summers " 
 
 "Don't let's talk about the business," pleaded Gaga. 
 Sally was arrested. 
 
 "Funny!" she exclaimed. "We haven't, have we!" 
 
 "It's so much nicer being . . . friends." 
 
 One of Gaga's hands was stretched across the table. 
 With a sense of mischief Sally allowed him to take her 
 own hand. Then she moved it quickly. 
 
 "They're looking at us," she whispered to him. "Those 
 waitress girls." Instantly she was free. She had the 
 thought that a real man would have held her hand for a 
 moment longer. All the same, she enjoyed her power 
 over Gaga. The little unreadable smile that so excited 
 him was upon her face, and the knowledge of power was 
 in her heart. 
 
 They sat for a little while over coffee ; and then Sally 
 began to put on her gloves. A few minutes later they 
 were out in the dark street, and pausing to discover the 
 points of the compass. As they stood, a great gust of 
 wind came sweeping along from the southeast, and at
 
 180 COQUETTE 
 
 its onset the two became strangely embraced, Gaga's arm 
 being round Sally, and the brim of her hat against his 
 breast. They both laughed, and Sally stood upright ; but 
 she did not move so violently that Gaga must withdraw 
 his arm. She was amused and elated at contact with 
 him. Gaga, encouraged, drew her closer. 
 
 "Oo !" murmured Sally. She let him see her laughing 
 face. 
 
 Gaga, very excited, lowered his head. Sally jerked her 
 own head upon one side with lightning speed, and felt 
 his lips clumsily upon her ear. Twice he kissed her, 
 convulsively hugging her to his side. Then Sally, rather 
 breathless, but not at all discomposed, pulled herself away. 
 
 "Now, now; that's enough," she said. They were both 
 grinning ; but of the two only Sally was cool. She could 
 tell that Gaga was trembling slightly, and when a little 
 later they parted he held her hand for a long time, and 
 sought timidly to draw her to him again for another 
 kiss. Sally, however, ignored the pressure, and left him 
 standing in the yellow shop and street lights, while she 
 rode securely homeward in her omnibus. Her last glimpse 
 was of newspaper bills lying upon the pavement, and of 
 men and women in motion against the lights, and Gaga 
 standing watching her out of sight. Then she looked 
 round the omnibus, at some other girls, and an old man 
 who wore two waistcoats, and the conductor; and her 
 face again puckered into a smile. 
 
 "Doesn't half think he's a devil," she thought, de- 
 murely. 
 
 Then other thoughts of Gaga arose, and Sally frowned 
 a little. She had a sudden feeling that she was on diffi- 
 cult ground. She was not afraid, not nervous; but her 
 imaginings darted swiftly here and there at the bidding 
 of a knowledge that she must not at this juncture make 
 any false step.
 
 GAGA 181 
 
 xvii 
 
 All the way home Sally had the one subject, the one 
 series of speculations, hammering at her attention. She 
 was again sensible ; she was shrewd and perceptive. Gaga 
 was a funny old stick, she thought ; funny and weak and 
 nice. She could play upon him with ease. A touch, and 
 he was thrilled ; a kiss, and he was beside himself. And 
 yet what did he want what did he think he wanted? 
 And what did Sally herself want? She did not know. 
 She felt at a loss, excited and almost wanton. Yet so 
 much depended upon all this that she dared not make a 
 mistake. Gaga's goodwill was of enormous importance. 
 In his hands lay some of her future. If she could help 
 him, earn rewards, understand the business, she could 
 master everything. And Madam what if Madam died? 
 Supposing she suddenly died, and left Gaga in control 
 of the business, what would happen? Sally hoisted her 
 shoulders in doubt. Gaga might sell the whole thing. 
 He might run it himself. He would keep Miss Sum- 
 mers . . . 
 
 "Oh, I wish I was older!" cried Sally, impatiently. "I 
 could do it, but they wouldn't let me. They'd think I 
 couldn't. I could ! Not all at once, but in a little while. 
 If he'd hold on. Supposing he ... wants me . . ." 
 Her thoughts flitted away. She had a quick picture of 
 Gaga as a lover, of herself managing everything by keep- 
 ing him at her side with cajolery and parsimoniously- 
 yielded delights. But he might grow tired of her; and 
 then where would she be ? Sally did not trust men now ; 
 she too clearly saw that once they were no longer tantal- 
 ised they were liable to become sated and uneager. She 
 was face to face with that speculation here. It all de- 
 pended upon Gaga, upon the strength of her hold upon 
 him. Could she so play that she reaped all the advan-
 
 182 COQUETTE 
 
 tage she needed without giving anything at all ? She was 
 deperately tempted. She so greatly craved the power 
 which only Gaga could give her. Well, what did he 
 want? It was not enough that she should recognise her 
 power to excite him : she needed much more than a few 
 odd favours. And she was afraid to do anything to 
 force him to grant whatever he could. In any case, what 
 could he give her? She was too observant to be de- 
 ceived as to his powerlessness. She saw him as a 
 cypher; but as one who might one day perhaps quite 
 soon own the whole business. Who else was there to 
 make him do anything with it ? There was nobody. Sally 
 knew her own strength. What she could not guess was 
 the best means of using it to her own advantage. 
 
 She arrived home to find her mother in bed, with her 
 short grey hair scantily bedecking the pillow. At Sally's 
 entrance, Mrs. Minto opened weary eyes, and looked at 
 her with a sort of hatred. Sally knew the expression : it 
 was full of suspicion and dread and solicitude, the result 
 of Mrs. Minto's lonely evening of speculation. 
 
 "Hullo, ma !" she cried, recklessly. "Here I am. And 
 I haven't been working. And there's nothing to fuss 
 about. And that's all about that." 
 
 "Where you been?" sternly demanded Mrs. Minto. 
 
 "Well," began Sally, "if you must know, Madam's 
 worse. She's ill. Think she's going to die. And I been 
 talking to Mr. Bertram, and giving him good advice. I'm 
 a mother to that man. What he'd do without me I can't 
 think." 
 
 "Oo, Mr. Bertram!" It was clearly a warning cry. 
 "Mr. Bertram! Oo, Sally!" 
 
 "Soppy, ma. We call him 'Gaga.' He's weak, you 
 know. Cries over his work, like a kid. Wants somebody 
 to give him a bit of backbone." 
 
 "Confidence," suggested Mrs. Minto, intrigued by the
 
 GAGA 183 
 
 picture. She said no more, but rolled over and stared at 
 the dim wall until sleep crept upon her and annulled her 
 reflections. 
 
 Sally was struck by the word. Confidence ! That was 
 what Gaga needed! Half the time he was afraid of his 
 own shadow. Quickly her brain refashioned the meal she 
 had had with Gaga. Poor lamb, he hadn't got any con- 
 fidence! Madam had kept him down. He wanted rous- 
 ing. Once get his blood up, and he might do something 
 really . . . For the first time Sally was genuinely inter- 
 ested in Gaga. She had never honestly thought of help- 
 ing him for his own sake. All she had thought of was her 
 own future. And now her mother had put Gaga in a 
 new light. Sally almost thought well of him. He might 
 be rather bigger than she had supposed. What if he 
 were? 
 
 Yes, but what did Gaga want of Sally? You don't 
 kiss a girl because she is anything but a girl. It was a 
 profundity. Gaga had kissed Sally because. . . . 
 
 Sally turned away to hide from any glance of her 
 sleeping mother the gleeful smile which had made her face 
 radiant. She had been kissed because she had encouraged 
 Gaga to kiss her ; but he was so timid that he would never 
 have done it if he had not very greatly desired to kiss 
 her. She wondered what he thought about her. He 
 talked of their being "friends"; he was half silly about 
 her; he had kissed her and had wanted to kiss her again. 
 Having begun, he would want to go on kissing her. And 
 then, what? He would be afraid to kiss her at their 
 next meeting; but he would all the time be watching his 
 opportunity to do so. Was Sally going to give him his 
 opportunity? Was she going to give him the confidence 
 necessary for the task of using his opportunity? She 
 was still gay, still amused and self-confident; but there 
 was a doubt in her eyes. She wanted to know more. She
 
 184 COQUETTE 
 
 wanted to know all that was still hidden from her. All 
 the same, during the whole of her questioning of Gaga s 
 ultimate aspirations, she never once lost the consciousness 
 that the next step lay with herself. Was she going to 
 give him that necessary confidence? 
 
 "Oh, I think so," thought Sally, deliberately; and 
 smiled almost to laughter as she lay with her face upon 
 the pillow and was aware of the whole of her warm 
 body, from the tip of her nose to her round heels and 
 the eager fingers bunched close to her breast. "I think 
 so . . ." she repeated, with more humorousness. She 
 had a vision of Gaga with his chocolate eyes glowing into 
 her own as the result of the wine and his proximity to 
 herself. She saw his thin lips stretched, and the faint 
 red under his grey cheeks, and his thin hair. She felt 
 his lips clumsily kissing her ear, the nervous clutching of 
 his arms. Sally was pleased. She knew that sleep was 
 almost upon her, and heard Mrs. Minto's deep breathing 
 a foot away from the back of her head. Yawningly, she 
 snuggled more comfortably into her pillow, and as con- 
 sciousness slipped away a distant murmur seemed to re- 
 peat: "Yes . . . yes ... I ... think so." In a mood 
 of expectant triumph she slept, sure for the moment of the 
 course of future events. 
 
 XVlll 
 
 All the next day Sally's nerves were on edge. She had 
 slept heavily, and had awakened unre freshed. She had 
 made her way to Madame Gala's in a tame morning mood, 
 once again self-distrustful, very much waiting upon 
 events. The sight of Nosey checking the times of arrival, 
 and still more the gloomy aspect of a half-empty work- 
 room, chilled her. Miss Summers looked spiteful, Rose 
 Anstey was sniffling with a cold, the others were listless
 
 GAGA 185 
 
 and tired. It was a muggy morning, and all spirits were 
 low. Sally's were lower than any others in the room. 
 She began to work with only half her ordinary attentive- 
 ness, broke her cotton, snapped a needle, fidgetted. Her 
 eyelids were hot, and she felt a headache begin to throb 
 faintly in promise of greater effort later in the day. She 
 was restless and wretched, looking at the door which prob- 
 ably hid Gaga. Even the memory of last night's kisses 
 was stale and unsatisfactory. As she drew her breath 
 in a half-sob, Sally longed suddenly for Toby. She 
 longed for his strong arms, his possessive air, his muscu- 
 lar strength. And as she thought of Toby a tear came to 
 her eye, and she felt that life was not worth living. A 
 consciousness of childish need for support destroyed all 
 her confidence at a blow. How she hated all these stupid 
 girls! How she longed for something she could not 
 imagine what which should take her out of their com- 
 pany. Complaint filled her mind. Why should she have 
 to work, to go backwards and forwards between the 
 workroom and that miserable home where her mother 
 stewed incessantly and followed the course of her monot- 
 onous days? It was a mood of pure reaction, but it 
 made Sally desperate. Her head began to ache more 
 noticeably. She was almost crying. 
 
 That, perhaps, was the condition of them all. None of 
 the girls spoke, and all looked black and miserable as they 
 bent over their work, or slacked and glanced around 
 them. Outside, the rain began to fall, and the sky was 
 grey with cloud. The lights had to be switched on, and 
 they cast a deceptive glow upon all work, and idiotic 
 shadows of the moving fingers of the girls. Miss Sum- 
 mers glowered and rubbed the tip of her nose; and at 
 each crack or rustle of a chair or a piece of material 
 she glanced sharply up, as though she were fighting with 
 an impulse to scream. Sally felt that if Miss Summers
 
 186 COQUETTE 
 
 had screamed they would all have screamed. She herself 
 was tempted to scream first, so as to see what would 
 happen. She thought that all work would be instantly 
 thrown down, and that everybody would answer her 
 cry, and then begin noisily to sob. Even miserable as 
 she was, the thought of this avalanche of feminine ex- 
 citability made Sally snuffle with amusement. She pic- 
 tured Gaga running out of his room, distraught, looking 
 yellow and bilious, his eyes staring wildly out of his 
 head, as do the eyes of prawns. And then? And then 
 Rose Anstey would fall bellowing into his arms, and 
 Sally would tear her away, and claim Gaga before them 
 all. . . . 
 
 How astounded he would be! But anything would 
 be better than this wretched suppressed exasperation 
 which was making the atmosphere of the workroom un- 
 bearable. Fortunately a girl finished the work she was 
 doing, and took it to Miss Summers. 
 
 "Very bad!" snapped Miss Summers. "It's not even 
 straight ! You must do it again. Naughty girl, to waste 
 that silk like this !" 
 
 The girl began weakly to cry. All the others stared 
 viciously at her, gloating over her distress, hating her, 
 and thankful to have some object at which to discharge 
 their suppressed venom. They would have liked to beat 
 her. Savagery shone in their malignant eyes. All be- 
 came sadistic in their enjoyment of the weeping girl as 
 she crept back to her place. Only Miss Summers grew 
 rather red, and swallowed quickly, and was ashamed. 
 
 "Nancy!" she called. "What is it? Aren't you well?" 
 
 Nancy put her head upon her outstretched arms, and 
 they could hear the long dreadful sobs that shook her 
 body. Upon every face Sally read the same message ; the 
 curled lips, the pinched nostrils, all indicated the general 
 strain.
 
 GAGA 187 
 
 "We're all like that this morning, Miss Summers," she 
 said, almost with defiance. "It's the weather. That's 
 what it is." 
 
 The other girls all turned from Nancy and transferred 
 to Sally their mounting malevolence. They would have 
 liked to see her swept from her place. They could have 
 scratched and bitten her with fury. And yet, a moment 
 or two after she had spoken, there was a perceptible re- 
 lief. Nancy stole out of the room, to finish her cry and 
 bathe her face, and one of the girls her friend went 
 after her. There was a pause in work. A window was 
 opened, and some air lightened the oppression. Sally re- 
 mained seated, while the others crowded to the window, 
 and slowly recovered her own composure. And then, in 
 five minutes, when everybody resumed, it was found that 
 things were not so bad after all, and Nancy's work was 
 rectified, and Rose Anstey blew her nose and looked dis- 
 agreeable, and some of them talked; so that presently all 
 became more animated, and the sky lightened, and the 
 day was less trying. Only Sally's head continued to ache, 
 and her spirits to falter. But she no longer sighed for 
 Toby. A curious dread of him came into her conscious- 
 ness, which she could not understand. She was afraid. 
 She felt defensive towards him, and explanatory. Under 
 her attention all sorts of impulses were at work. Pictures 
 of Toby in different circumstances began to flash into her 
 mind, always blurring in an instant ; while the memory of 
 her dinner with Gaga grew stronger and more remark- 
 able. Not knowing what she was doing, Sally pushed 
 her work away, and sat in a brown study, until she be- 
 came aware that she was under observation. 
 
 Sally met these cruel stares with immediately assumed 
 equanimity, and she once more drew the work towards 
 her; and in a few moments the girls forgot Sally, and 
 chattered a little together. And by the time their atten-
 
 188 COQUETTE 
 
 tion was withdrawn wholly it was the luncheon interval, 
 which meant more to all of them than usual, since it 
 once more gave the girls an opportunity for standing up 
 and moving about. They grouped, and went slowly to- 
 wards the room where they always ate; and Sally was 
 able to open the other door for an instant, only to discover 
 that Madam's room was empty. With a sinking heart, 
 she followed the others, again beset by a loss of confi- 
 dence. 
 
 In the afternoon she was sent out by Miss Summers 
 to match some silk, and this gave Sally relief without 
 which she must have ended the day feeling ill. As it was, 
 she came back just as they were making tea, and her own 
 cup of tea sent the headache away. For the first time 
 that day, Sally heard herself laughing. She was telling 
 Muriel of a fight between two dogs, and how a man had 
 been overthrown in the mud through trying to part the 
 dogs ; and when Muriel laughed Sally laughed also, which 
 made the other girls prick up their ears and grow more 
 lively. There was a great change in the general at- 
 mosphere after tea. The constraint disappeared, and 
 everybody became more normal. Needles were more 
 adroitly used; the light improved; a general air of con- 
 tentment arose. Sally no longer thought of Toby, or of 
 Gaga. She was making a dream for herself, out of a 
 motor car she had seen, and a handsome soldier, and the 
 way a commissionaire had stepped out of her way. She 
 needed few materials for her dream, and was a fine lady 
 for the rest of the afternoon. 
 
 Dreaming, however, has its penalties; and for this oc- 
 casion Sally was punished by having to stay rather late 
 in order to finish what she was doing. The other girls 
 began to go home ; but Sally and Miss Summers remained 
 at their tasks. The delay produced a strange experience 
 for Sally, because when they were alone together Miss
 
 GAGA 189 
 
 Summers began abruptly to talk. She hummed a little 
 at first, and then broke into a long speech which had been 
 seething all day in her mind. 
 
 "I hope you don't think I was nasty to Nancy this 
 morning, Sally. She's a funny girl. She's in love, you 
 know; and thinks of nothing but this man. And he's 
 a married man, too, and not a good man, Sally. He'd 
 think nothing of leading a girl like Nancy into doing 
 wrong, and leaving her to get on as well as she can. 
 Well, that's not right, Sally." Miss Summers felt for 
 her handkerchief, and Sally noticed with astonishment 
 that there were tears in her eyes. "You see, when a man's 
 married he ought to be careful what he does. Now once, 
 when I was a girl, I'd got my head full of the sort of 
 things that young girls have not you, Sally ; you're too 
 sensible ; and I met a man, and thought he was the . . . 
 well, I thought he was the finest man in the world. He 
 wasn't. He'd got a poor wretched wife that he neglected, 
 and he drank, and when he ran away they found he'd 
 been betting with money that didn't belong to him. And 
 he very nearly took me with him. Fortunately, I didn't 
 go. I was afraid to go though I didn't know about 
 his wife. He said he'd marry me when we got away. 
 Well, I thought it was funny. I said, 'Why not be- 
 fore?' and he said, 'You don't understand. What if 
 we didn't suit each other?' I said, 'Why shouldn't we? 
 Other people get married.' And all that sort of thing I 
 said. Well, I wanted to go, and wanted to go ; and at last 
 I didn't, and I was thankful afterwards. Now Nancy's 
 man is a shopwalker somewhere. He's got no money, 
 but he's good-looking, you know, and girls think a lot 
 of that when they're young; and also he's one of those 
 men who give a girl the idea that he can have twenty 
 others if he wants them. That's what upsets a girl. She
 
 190 COQUETTE 
 
 thinks she's got to make her mind up in a hurry, or lose 
 him, d'you see?" 
 
 "More fool she," remarked Sally. "Pooh 1" 
 
 "So / say. Mind, in Nancy's case, she's just in love. 
 He may not want her. She doesn't know. And it's the 
 uncertainty that keeps her like this. Far better if she 
 married some steady young fellow who'd make her a 
 good husband. But girls don't think of that. They don't 
 like steady fellows, any more than young fellows like 
 steady girls." 
 
 "That's true," said Sally, thoughtfully. "They want 
 a bit of ginger." 
 
 "Well, sometimes I think nobody ought to marry until 
 they're well on in life." 
 
 ''They'd miss a lot," Sally murmured. 
 
 "Eh? Well, it's a puzzle to me. Look at Nancy. 
 What is it she wants? She's got forty or fifty years more 
 to live." 
 
 "But you don't think like that," breathed Sally. "It's 
 love." 
 
 Miss Summers gave a great sigh, and rubbed the tip 
 of her nose with the back of her forefinger. She was 
 seriously perplexed at the interruption from one so saga- 
 cious. 
 
 "You'll think twice before you marry for just love, 
 and nothing else," said she. 
 
 Sally's little white face was turned away. She was 
 apparently concentrated upon her work. 
 
 "Perhaps I shall," she admitted. "You never know 
 what you'll do till the time comes." 
 
 "You can make up your mind to be careful," said 
 Miss Summers. "It's not the first man who makes the 
 best husband." 
 
 Sally crouched in her place. Her heart was beating so 
 fast that she felt as though she were suffocating. Miss
 
 GAGA 191 
 
 Summers could not appreciate the effect of her words, 
 because she had gone back again to the subject of Nancy 
 and her married shopwalker. 
 
 "You ought to have seen that child's work today !" 
 
 "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 ad- 
 mitted. "It's the weather. Always upsets people. Doc- 
 tor 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
 
 192 COQUETTE 
 
 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 re- 
 turn 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." 
 
 "111?" 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 pro- 
 vocative shades of meaning. 
 
 "Hn," she said. "Funny us both having headaches. 
 You still got yours?" 
 
 Gaga nodded. She went farther towards him, hesi- 
 tated, 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 fore- 
 head, and felt how burning it was. She felt him grow 
 rigid at the contact, and saw his face betray his sensitive- 
 ness to her touch. Sally's smile deepened in mischief. 
 She was playing with him, playing with fire and Gaga at
 
 GAGA 193 
 
 the same time, and only lightly amused at her employ- 
 ment. 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 head- 
 ache." 
 
 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 any- 
 thing 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 mechani- 
 cally rose, and was about her waist, quite unpossessively. 
 His face was moved with a conflict of emotions. Sally
 
 194 COQUETTE 
 
 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. Instant- 
 ly she knew that she had made a mistake. His arm re- 
 laxed. 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 what- 
 ever 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 fore- 
 head, 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 pres-
 
 GAGA 195 
 
 sures 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 1 ... 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.
 
 196 COQUETTE 
 
 Sally's face was darkened. She had tears in her eyes,- 
 and her mouth was thin and hard. There was alto- 
 gether 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 amaze- 
 ment. 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. Mar- 
 ried to Gaga! Why, nothing could stop her! Married 
 to him, she would be unassailable. It was not to be be- 
 lieved. 
 
 "Because I love you. Sally, do say 'yes.' ' He was be- 
 seeching. His grey face was flushed, his lips eagerly 
 parted, his eyes radiant. Gaga seemed transfigured. And 
 his embrace was strengthened each instant by his vehe- 
 ment desire for her. 
 
 "You love me?" Sally's voice had become thick and 
 stupid as she struggled to maintain her clearness of judg- 
 ment 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 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 un- 
 foreseen situation. 
 
 "So lovely," Gaga breathed. His lips came nearer, and
 
 GAGA 197 
 
 she did not withdraw. He kissed her mouth at last, and 
 again ; and at her response the kiss became long and pos- 
 sessive. "You lovely girl," he went on. "We'll be mar- 
 ried . . . 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 haz'e 
 been known to happen." Her voice was quite hard, be- 
 cause 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 sur- 
 prised her, and she had supposed herself altogether be- 
 yond surprise. A license ! Her quick glance could fathom 
 no deceit, no inconceivable sportiveness in Gaga. 
 
 "Oh! You are in a hurry!" she exclaimed, delaying- 
 ly. "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
 
 198 COQUETTE 
 
 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. 
 
 ...i :..-: 
 
 . 
 
 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. Other- 
 wise 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 every- 
 thing. She might lose her place with Madame Gala, she
 
 GAGA 199 
 
 might . . . How harassed she was ! It was such a temp- 
 tation ! 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 bril- 
 liant with excitement. She was at high tension. The first 
 sight of their room, and her mother's squalid figure, pro- 
 duced 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 morn-
 
 200 COQUETTE 
 
 ing 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 unhap- 
 piness 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 re- 
 straint 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.
 
 GAGA 201 
 
 "Sally," she said. "Come here." When Sally ap- 
 proached her, Miss Summers pretended to give some in- 
 structions ; 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 impor- 
 tant 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 hu- 
 mility. 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 Sum- 
 mers, 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 jeal- 
 ousy, their cutting remarks about herself. And she
 
 202 COQUETTE 
 
 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 scru- 
 tiny 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 creep- 
 ing 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
 
 GAGA 203 
 
 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 con- 
 sidered her speech with a further smile, so that Mrs. 
 Minto became irritated, and went on with her prepara- 
 tions 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 you 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.
 
 204 COQUETTE 
 
 "Ma, I'm marrying a rich man. I'm marrying Madam's 
 son." 
 
 "Madam's sonl" 
 
 "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 ap- 
 peared 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 . . .
 
 GAGA 205 
 
 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 any- 
 thing 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 up- 
 right, 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 tur- 
 bulent 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 mak- 
 ing 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 be- 
 tween 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
 
 206 COQUETTE 
 
 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.
 
 BOOK THREE: CONSEQUENCES
 
 BOOK THREE: CONSEQUENCES 
 
 THE Merricks Sally and Bertram went for their 
 honeymoon to Penterby, a little South of England 
 town near the sea but not actually upon the coast. The 
 honeymoon was to be a short one, the barest weekend, 
 and so they could not go far from London ; and for some 
 reason Gaga could not stand the sea itself. Strong air 
 made him ill, and even sight of rolling waves made 
 him feel sick. Sally, still elated and not as yet very con- 
 fident or assertive, immediately agreed when he suggested 
 this country town ; but she had no real notion of what was 
 in store for her. She was all half-amused trepidation. 
 The scuffled marriage-ceremony, after which the regis- 
 trar's clerk hurried to call for her for the first time by her 
 new name, was fun to her. It meant nothing : "I, Sarah, 
 Margaret Minto, call on these present ..." It was all 
 a part of a game, a rather exciting game ; and Gaga was 
 no more to her after the ceremony than he had been 
 before it. He was a tall agitated grey creature, very 
 tremulous and muffled in his speech, and nothing like a 
 husband. What was a husband? How did one feel to- 
 wards a husband ? All Sally knew was that her husband 
 was a stranger. He was one man out of millions of men, 
 no more and no less than the others. The thought that 
 she was binding herself to him for life did not trouble 
 her. It did not enter her head. 
 
 Nevertheless, she felt triumph at her wedding ring, 
 and clutched Gaga's arm as they came out of the register 
 office with their two casually-acquired witnesses. They 
 
 200
 
 210 COQUETTE 
 
 were instantly alone, and walking along the street to- 
 gether in the autumn sunshine, married and excited, but 
 merely two strangers on their way to lunch. And yet 
 that was not quite all, because when they were seated at 
 lunch Sally felt the slightest sensation of flurry at Gaga's 
 possessive stare. She returned it boldly, quite unembar- 
 rassed; but across her mind flitted a knowledge which 
 came there of its own accord. He was a weak man, weak 
 in his possessiveness as he had been weak in his stammer- 
 ing; and the possessiveness (which in a strong man might 
 have excited her) gave Sally an uncomfortable sense that 
 Gaga might bother her. She had never realised this. She 
 saw in this instant that he would be jealous, exacting, 
 amorous. She did not love him, and the amorousness 
 of the unloved is a bore. Sally knew she could always 
 deal with Gaga; but she did not want a profusion of 
 excited caresses from him. It was this realisation that 
 gave her a jerk of dismay. It was not that she shrank 
 from him. It was that with her cold little brain she 
 imagined him in a fever about her, fretful, tantalised by 
 her coolness, rebuffed, sulky, ineffably tedious ... As 
 she knew all this her eyes darkened. It was all very well 
 to play with Gaga ; but he was now her husband, and that 
 meant an association so constant that in future, so far 
 from tempting him, she would forever be engaged in bat- 
 tles with his exasperating, petty claims to her person and 
 her attention. He would not ever be able to understand 
 her wish to be alone, or to be self-engrossed. Febrile 
 himself, he would be dumfounded at her reserve, which 
 he would take for hostility. 
 
 The knowledge came to Sally so unexpectedly that she 
 did not respond to Gaga's unspoken appeals. The frown 
 in her eyes deepened. All round her were the gilded mir- 
 rors of the Rezzonico, and the general noise and move- 
 ment of a busy restaurant. Opposite was Gaga, smiling
 
 CONSEQUENCES 211 
 
 with a sort of joy which made his long face appear to 
 shine. She could tell that he was almost beside himself 
 with excitement. And she was cool. There was no cur- 
 rent of understanding between them. They had neither 
 physical nor spiritual rapport. Slowly Sally's gaze took 
 in all that was revealed in Gaga's face and his nervously 
 extended hands. Slowly a little cruel smile played round 
 her small mouth. She had married him. She was sure 
 of him. But there was a price. He would be a nuisance, 
 a futile nuisance to her. He would demand kisses, he 
 would pry, would watch her, would fuss. He would be 
 a lover with all the empty ardour of the neurotic man. 
 Sally's heart sank. She did not want a restrained lover, 
 because she was young and high-spirited ; but this singular 
 trembling possessiveness would soon be intolerable. He 
 would be a nuisance. Again and again the threat pressed 
 itself upon Sally's consciousness. 
 
 Men! That was what Sally thought. She had no de- 
 liberate mental process. All her intuitions were summar- 
 ised in the one word. Men ! Toby . . . Gaga ! Gravely, 
 she looked round the restaurant. There were fat men 
 and thin men, dark and fair, ugly and good-looking and 
 negligible. And as she looked at them in turn, puzzled, 
 Sally shrugged her shoulders. She came back to Gaga. 
 She gave him a false, alluring smile, secure in her power 
 to excite him still further ; but her gravity was constant. 
 She had glimpsed for the first time a thing which she 
 could not have known before marriage. It was that one 
 married for different reasons, but that one had to endure 
 the disadvantages accompanying any choice. She was 
 not afraid, but she was ruffled. She was ruffled by that 
 exulting possessiveness which shone from Gaga. Had 
 she loved him, her joy might have been comparable with 
 his. If she had loved him and he had seemed not to de- 
 sire her, Sally's happiness would have been undermined.
 
 212 COQUETTE 
 
 But in her present coolness, the sense that Gaga was 
 personally inescapable was enough to depress her. He 
 would be a nuisance. 
 
 She found it so when they were in the taxicab on their 
 way to Victoria. Her smallness made her unable to stem 
 the torrent of his excited caresses. For a time she sub- 
 mitted to them, still entirely serious. Then a kind of 
 petulant composure enabled her to chill him. Gaga 
 laughed in a sort of giggle, holding Sally's hands, and 
 looking adoringly into her eyes, and trying to kiss her. 
 Instead of giving him kisses, instead of wishing him to 
 kiss her, Sally found herself aware already of a slight 
 repugnance. As she looked forward to spending days 
 and nights with him her heart sank. She was not shocked 
 She was not afraid. She knew that there would come a 
 time when, after boring her, Gaga's kisses would become 
 troublesome. And it was too late now to withdraw. She 
 was too deeply into her new scheme of life. But this 
 feverish, insatiably amorous, weak Gaga would get on her 
 nerves. So this was what marriage might be. Sally's 
 jaw stiffened. Yes, if she allowed it to be so. But Sally 
 was Sally. Kisses should presently be favours. Gaga 
 should learn his place. A hardness showed. She pushed 
 aside the clinging arms, and sat erect. 
 
 "No," cried Sally, sharply, at his convulsive motion 
 of return. "Not now. We're . . . People looking at 
 us. . . ." 
 
 She did not want to be hard. She did not want to grow 
 bard and bitter. She had seen women who were both, 
 and she disliked them. But with Gaga she would have to 
 be hard. Otherwise he would bore her to desperation. So 
 there was at this moment no longer any softness in Sally's 
 heart towards Gaga. She resented him. As they pushed 
 through the crowd at Victoria, Sally had a sudden im- 
 pulse to run away. A shudder fled through her. A girl
 
 CONSEQUENCES 213 
 
 with less resolute will, or perhaps of greater delicacy, 
 would have made some movement. But Sally merely 
 stood with her head lowered, and considered the position. 
 It was not his love that she minded ; it was his hysterical 
 possessiveness, the sense that he would always be there 
 and claiming convulsively those small incessant intimacies 
 which accompany marriage. Sally could not put her per- 
 ception into coherent terms; but she was assured of the 
 fact. Gaga would want too much, and that not in an 
 adorably masterful way, but with exacting and pertina- 
 cious excitement bred from his weakness and neurotic 
 avidity. The domination of the weak man would be a 
 tyranny, as it always is. Sally thought : "He'll be a nui- 
 sance. I shall want to do him in by the time we get back. 
 Oh, Lor! You done for yourself, Sally, my gel! You 
 come a mucker ! Look at your husband ! Look at him !" 
 She could see Gaga in the distance, moving agitatedly 
 about a porter and the guard, and tripping over luggage, 
 and interrupting other eager passengers, and stretching 
 his long arm over their shoulders in order to touch the 
 guard. "That's your husband, that is ! Man who's lost 
 his head. Man they all love. Fancy living with it for fifty 
 years! Oh, Lor! A whole lifetime. Three-hundred- 
 and-sixty-five days in the year, too. All day, every day ! 
 Makes you start thinking !" And she watched Gaga speed- 
 ing exultantly towards her. 
 
 "All right. We've got a first," he panted, quite out of 
 breath. "To ourselves. I've tipped the guard. It's . . . 
 it's all right. Come along. This way. Come along!" 
 
 "Oo!" cried Sally, with archness. "To ourselves! 
 What a surprise! Strange!" And to herself, returning 
 to her own sober thoughts : "If you did too much think- 
 ing you'd lose the use of your legs. And if girls thought 
 a bit before they got marrying, they'd , , . Funny! I 
 wonder what they would do !"
 
 214 COQUETTE 
 
 
 
 n 
 
 What she would herself have done Sally had no time 
 to consider ; for they were hurried to their compartment, 
 and were locked in by the obliging and amused guard 
 They then sat demurely upon opposite sides of the car- 
 riage until the train began to move. Every time anybody 
 peered in at the window Sally, who had recovered her 
 good spirits, began to laugh; and Gaga was full of con- 
 sternation. But at last even that anxiety was removed, 
 and in the afternoon sunlight the country began to glow 
 under their eyes and race round in a sweeping circle with 
 an intoxicating effect not to be appreciated by those who 
 are staled for railway travelling. Sally allowed Gaga 
 to embrace her; but she kept her face resolutely turned 
 from him for a long time while she relished her new joy 
 in rushing thus through the increasingly-beautiful dis- 
 tricts which bordered the track. It was only when Gaga 
 became expostulatory that she abandoned this pleasure 
 and yielded to his tumultuous affection, with a listlessness 
 and a sense of criticism which was new to her. Silly fool ; 
 why couldn't he sit still and be quiet! She belonged to 
 herself, not to him. Almost, she thrust him away from 
 her. 
 
 They reached Penterby by four o'clock in the after- 
 noon, and were turned out upon the platform with their 
 two light bags, like the stranded wanderers they were. 
 And then they walked out into the roughly paved road 
 leading through the town to higher land behind, and on- 
 ward, along a road to which they turned their backs, and 
 which wavered, past the railroad station, up an incline 
 in the direction of the distant sea. Gaga carried both 
 bags, and led the way, and Sally saw for the first time a 
 wide street, and shops and houses quaintly built, and a 
 church spire with houses below it, arranged in terraces,
 
 CONSEQUENCES 215 
 
 all warm in the dying sun. It was still summer here, she 
 thought, and the atmosphere was pleasant. The houses 
 were not at all crowded, but stood up at the first glance 
 as if they were proud of great age and their height above 
 the road from the station. 
 
 "We going up there?" demanded Sally, pointing to 
 the hill, and the houses erect upon it. 
 
 "No, darling ... See ... that . . . that . . . 
 lamp." 
 
 Sally looked up at Gaga's face. Oh, if it had only been 
 Toby ! The blood suddenly rushed to her cheeks. Toby ! 
 She wanted Toby! As quickly, she was chilled by fear. 
 What would Toby do ? WTiat would he try to do ? Yes, 
 well Toby didn't know yet that she was married. And 
 she was married to Gaga, and she had done this thing 
 with her eyes open. There was no going back. Marriage 
 was a thing you could not repudiate. It was final. The 
 blood flowed away from Sally's face. She was cool again 
 in an instant. Her eyes were fixed upon the lamp which 
 Gaga had indicated, and upon the ivy behind it. Upon 
 a suspended board she read in gold the letters "RIVER 
 HOTEL", and as she appreciated the meaning of this 
 name Sally observed that the street went onward past 
 the hotel over an unmistakable bridge. 
 
 "Is that the river?" she asked. "Is the hotel on the 
 river? Where we stay?" 
 
 "Yes. You'll see ... You'll like it." Gaga was en- 
 treating, now rather frightened by Sally's lack of response 
 to his feverish endearments, already inclined to suspicion 
 and sidelong glances of doubt. 
 
 "Sure I shall!" cried Sally, perfectly composed once 
 more. "It's nice. Does the river go just there ?" 
 
 Gaga became suddenly very enthusiastic. He motioned 
 with the hand in which both small bags were carried. He 
 began to walk at a quicker pace.
 
 216 COQUETTE 
 
 "You see the front of the hotel all ... all ivy. Well, 
 at the end the wall goes . . . goes right down into the 
 water. And there's a balcony ... all ... all covered 
 with glass, on the first floor. Our room opens on this 
 balcony. You can look right down into the river. 
 
 "Is it a nice river?" 
 
 He was rather hesitating in face of her sharp tone of 
 inquiry. 
 
 "Well, er . . . Nice? It's . . . it's a tidal river. It 
 flows up and down. In ... in the summer things get 
 carried ... I mean, it's not . . . not very clean. It's 
 mud." 
 
 "Oo." Sally's little nose wrinkled. "Does it smell? I 
 mean, is it healthy?" But at this new question Gaga 
 looked very perplexed and rather unhappy, so that she 
 quickly abandoned her curiosity about the river, knowing 
 that she would presently be able to satisfy it more effec- 
 tively by personal observation. Without further speech 
 they came abreast of the hotel, and turned in under the 
 arched entrance. To the left of them was a door with the 
 legend "COFFEE ROOM" ; to the right another door 
 above which hung a little sign "HOTEL." It was by 
 this right-hand door that they entered, and it was here, 
 by a glass enclosed bar, that they waited. Upon an ex- 
 tended shelf there was lying a newspaper which had come 
 through the post for some departed visitor. Beyond the 
 bar Sally noticed decanters and bottles and upturned 
 glasses. Before her was another door, open, which re- 
 vealed a table upon which glasses had left little circular 
 stains. She was all curiosity. This must be the saloon. 
 She gave a sharp mischievous hunching of the shoulders, 
 and hugged Gaga's arm. Then, as a stout woman came 
 out of another room, she grew sedate, and stood free 
 from her husband in case they should be supposed to be 
 upon their honeymoon.
 
 CONSEQUENCES 217 
 
 "Good afternoon, Mr. Merrick." 
 
 She knew him, then. He was no stranger here. 
 
 "Mrs. Tennant . . . How . . . how d'you do? This 
 . . . I've brought my wife with me this time," stam- 
 mered Gaga proudly. "Sally, this is Mrs. Tennant." 
 
 "Pleased to meet you," announced the stout woman. 
 Sally scrutinised her. She had been pretty, but had grown 
 fat. She had puffs round her eyes, and swollen lips, and 
 a catlike expression of geniality. Behind her agreeable 
 smile there was suspicion of all mankind, suspicion and 
 wariness, due to her constant need of self-control in the 
 difficult business of managing noisy or cantankerous 
 guests. Sally did not like her. "Tabby!" she thought 
 at once. But immediately afterwards she knew that it 
 would be worth while to make a friend of Mrs. Tennant. 
 She gave her little friendly grin, and saw its effect. 
 "That's that," reflected Sally. And it was so. Mrs. Ten- 
 nant cordially led the way up to the first floor, talking of 
 the weather, and of the number of visitors who were at 
 present staying at the River Hotel. 
 
 "Does Mrs. Merrick play?" she asked. "Do you? 
 We've got a very good piano in the drawing-room . . . 
 I'm passionately fond of music myself. It's the sorrow of 
 my life I can't play." 
 
 Sally grimaced. The drawing-room was glimpsed a 
 room with settees and big chairs and a strident carpet 
 and antimacassars and small palms in pots. Large win- 
 dows made it beautifully light. And as she took in these 
 details Sally hurried on, and found herself in a narrow 
 dun-coloured passage, where brown doors with numbers 
 upon them indicated the bedrooms. It was into the sec- 
 ond of these rooms that she was led, and in spite of the 
 frowst she looked with eagerness at a further door and 
 windows that opened upon the balcony of which Gaga 
 had spoken. The windows were lace-curtained, but she
 
 218 COQUETTE 
 
 could see through the curtains to what seemed like a 
 conservatory. 
 
 "You see the door opens on to the balcony," explained 
 Mrs. Tennant, while Gaga put down the bags and wiped 
 his hands with his handkerchief. "Looks right across the 
 river. I'm afraid the tide's out now; but when it's up 
 you see all sorts of things floating up and down." 
 
 "What sort of things?" demanded Sally, going to the 
 glass sides of the building and peering down at the mud. 
 
 "Oh, all sorts. . . ." Mrs. Tennant was a little con- 
 fused, but conversational. "That old building you see 
 across there is ... well, it used to be a granary ; but no- 
 body's used it for a long time. There's a dinghy in the 
 mud over there. It's Mr. Scuffle's . . ." 
 
 Dinghy! Instantly Sally's mind jerked back to a day 
 she had spent with Toby, when he had teased her about 
 her ignorance of boats. Toby I So that was a dinghy ! 
 Just like any other boat. 
 
 The balcony was empty; but trays still lay upon two 
 of the light iron tables, and a newspaper had been tossed 
 upon the matted floor. All the chairs were of wicker, and 
 in them lay little hard cushions covered with dirtied cre- 
 tonne. Through the long glass side one could see the 
 slowly-flowing river (for the tide was about to turn), 
 and the already dimming sky, and the houses upon the 
 rising ground that lay beyond the farther bank, and the 
 bridge upon which people were walking. Sally looked 
 up and down the momentarily sinister river. She was 
 afraid of water, afraid of its secrecy and its current; and 
 she turned away from her contemplation with a sense of 
 chill. 
 
 "I'm cold," she said, brightly. "Bertram . . . Could 
 we have some tea, Mrs. Tennant?" 
 
 "Certainly. You'd like a wash? I'll get the tea at 
 once. , ."
 
 CONSEQUENCES 219 
 
 Back in the room, Sally was immediately again em- 
 braced. She did not now trouble about Gaga; she was 
 glad of his arms around her, and his breast upon which 
 she could lay her head. Married . . . river . . . mar- 
 ried . . . river . . . ran her thoughts. And she turned 
 away from Gaga to the washstand, and poured cold water 
 from the ewer into the basin. 
 
 "Let me alone . . ." she laughingly said. "Ee . . . 
 get away . . . I'm going to wash." 
 
 And when the water touched her face Sally was alert 
 once more, cleansed and freshened. With tea before her 
 she could face even marriage and that drearily-flowing 
 river and the hideous mud, so thick and so oozily sinister. 
 
 iii 
 
 On the following day Sally, dogged everywhere by 
 Gaga, was perfectly aware of her contempt for him. 
 Twenty-four hours had been enough to show her the ex- 
 acting and irritating characteristics of her new husband. 
 Did she stir, he looked up; his hand was ever ready for 
 her hand; those chocolate eyes were eternally suffused 
 with a love that moved Sally to impatience. He did not 
 even amuse her by his calf -like pursuit. All that was 
 ruthless in her rose up and sneered at his weakness and 
 his timid assurance, which had the same effect as one of 
 those horrible streamers of cobweb that catch the face 
 as one walks unwarily along a dusky lane. Only her 
 native resoluteness enabled her to show Gaga a false pa- 
 tience. Only her insensitiveness made his constant caress 
 endurable. Sally blinked sometimes at his grabbing senti- 
 mentality; but she already began to slip neatly aside and 
 avoid his carefully-planned contacts. She was not yet 
 hard or perverse. 
 
 And while Gaga lay down in the afternoon, as she
 
 220 COQUETTE 
 
 found he was in the habit of doing, in order that his 
 physical strength might last through the day, Sally found 
 the empty drawing-room and with often-strained ears 
 began the difficult task which she had set herself. Below 
 her was the thick, powerful current of the now sinking 
 river, laden with refuse which flowed backwards and for- 
 wards past the hotel; and upon the windows and casual 
 brightnesses of the tall houses on the hill across the river 
 she could see the crystal sparkling of reflected sunshine. 
 She had a feeling that all about Penterby was open green 
 country, sometimes flat, but always in the distance 
 crowned and adorned with hills ; and she knew the brown 
 of the river and the mud, and the green slime which dec- 
 orated the wall opposite. It was unforgettable. She would 
 always think of it. And her task was the writing of a 
 letter to Toby. She had planned to write to him upon 
 this day the first free day of her married life; and she 
 was bent upon keeping to her plan. He must be told at 
 once, and yet as she held the pen above a sheet of plain 
 paper she was stunned by the extraordinary difficulty of 
 the composition. Only then, for the first time, did she 
 grasp the definiteness of the step she had taken. She 
 would never see Toby again. Never? Never never 
 never. Sally's eyes filled with tears. A thick, painful sob 
 forced its way through her. Never. 
 
 She began to write. She put no address, but only, in 
 her plain handwriting, still that of a schoolgirl, the words 
 "My dear." It was at this point that Sally began to dis- 
 card all the phrases which she had earlier composed in 
 her head. She considered that if she were never to see 
 Toby again it did not matter what he thought of her. 
 The bald announcement would do very well. It was best, 
 and easiest, and safest. And then she knew again that 
 she was afraid of Toby, and of what he might do. She 
 was a true woman in being unable to face a conclusion.
 
 CONSEQUENCES 221 
 
 She could not imagine that she would never see him again. 
 It was incredible. So incapable was she of realising the 
 fact of a complete break that she thought herself pos- 
 sessed by an instinct that they must meet and continue as 
 before. Sally was much more afraid that he would kill 
 her. It was the reason why she was putting no address 
 at the head of the letter. He must not find her with Gaga, 
 She wrote at last. 
 
 "My dear. I have been a bad wicked girl and married 
 another man. Do not try to find me. I shall be all right. 
 Find some other girl, and be happy with her. I shall 
 never be happy without you. My husband is very kind 
 and good. Don't forget me." 
 
 At the end of this letter she put no signature, but a 
 single cross to indicate a kiss. Then she addressed an 
 envelope, stamped it, slipped down the stairs and along 
 to the post office. By the time Toby got the letter she 
 and Gaga would no longer be there ; and he would not be 
 able to find her afterwards. London was so big. She 
 was afraid of him, and yet she longed to see him again, 
 Five minutes later she was back in the drawing-room, 
 seated at the piano, and singing softly in her clear yoice 
 the song that had first so greatly charmed Gaga. 
 
 '"Your heart mine, and mine in your keeping, 
 List while I sing to you love's tender song.'" 
 
 As she sang, Sally looked up and at the doorway. 
 There, adoringly, stood Gaga, all his love making a ra- 
 diance in his face which she had not previously seen so 
 distinctly. He came slowly towards her, and as she con- 
 tinued her song he kissed the back of her neck where the 
 hair was brushed up in the first soft incalculable wave.
 
 222 COQUETTE 
 
 Sally for the first time shrank a little; but she pursued 
 her song unhesitatingly, so schooled was she in her deter- 
 mination that the price she was paying was to be borne. 
 
 " *When you and I go down the love path together, 
 Stars shall be shining and the night so fair. ' ' 
 
 "We'll go ... go walking in the moonlight to-night 
 . . . shall we?" whispered Gaga. Sally nodded, mak- 
 ing her voice quaver by the motion. Gaga could not see 
 her face; but Sally knew that even if he had done so he 
 would have been quite unable to read her thoughts, which 
 were dry and inflexible. He remained by her side until 
 she had finished the song, and then fiercely pressed her 
 head back until he was able by stooping to kiss her lips 
 from above. His hand was under her chin. He kissed 
 her many times, oppressively little ravenous pecks that 
 were febrile rather than loving; and assertive of his new 
 proprietorship. His kisses left Sally unmoved and slight- 
 ly frowning. She was surprised at Gaga's simplicity in 
 imagining that any girl valued or could possibly value 
 such ceaseless demonstrative action, such ugly hard little 
 parrot-like caresseses. 
 
 "Only a soppy kid would," she thought. "She'd like it, 
 I suppose. Think quantity meant love. It doesn't. Like 
 a beak. Silly fool!" And aloud she said quite firmly: 
 "There, that's enough. Shan't have any face left, at this 
 rate. I shall come out in spots. What's the time?" 
 
 To soften her words she held and pressed his hand; 
 but only for an instant. Then she rose abruptly from the 
 piano and walked over to the window. With his arm 
 immediately at her waist Gaga followed, like a long, ab- 
 ject greyhound. 
 
 "The tide's out," he said, indicating the sun illumined 
 mud by the opposite wall.
 
 CONSEQUENCES 223 
 
 "Ugh!" shuddered Sally. "Fancy getting your feet 
 in that stuff! You'd never get out . . . Gives me the 
 horrors, it does !" She leaned back into his arms. 
 
 IV 
 
 They left Penterby by a very early train on the Monday 
 morning, and while Gaga took the two bags to an hotel 
 where the Merricks were to stay for the present Sally 
 went direct to Madame Gala's. She had obtained special 
 permission to be an hour late in the morning, and so she 
 entered the workroom without confusion. It was the 
 same as it had always been the long benches, and the 
 girls, and Miss Summers sitting apart, as plump and 
 feline as ever. There was, of course, curiosity about 
 Sally. Few of the girls supposed that she had been away 
 with a girl friend, which had been the story; and all 
 looked at her with a knowing suspicion. Only Miss Sum- 
 mers was completely trusting. Sally had slipped off her 
 wedding-ring, and it lay in her purse. She took in the 
 whole scene as she entered, and measured the assumptions 
 of the girls with cool indifference. But she would have 
 done that in any case; for Sally had nothing to learn 
 about workgirls and their thoughts and interpretations, 
 and she had also none of the false self -consciousness 
 which makes wrong-doers imagine that their actions have 
 been providentially revealed to all observers. Had she 
 and Gaga arrived together the case would have been dif- 
 ferent; but nothing had occurred to make the girls sup- 
 pose that there was any relation between them, and Sally 
 was perfectly safe from that most dangerous of all recog- 
 nitions. She was still, to the girls, Sally Minto; and to 
 some of them still the white-faced cocket of Rose Anstey's 
 jealous outburst. Sally looked boldly at Rose as she sat 
 industriously working. Then, with greater stealth, at
 
 224 COQUETTE 
 
 Miss Summers. That plump face had a solemnly pre- 
 occupied expression that gave Sally a faint start of doubt 
 Immediately, however, she knew that Miss Summers 
 must be worried, not upon Sally's account, but on account 
 of some message respecting Madam which had been re- 
 ceived earlier in the morning. This made her seize an 
 excuse to approach Miss Summers. 
 
 "How's Madam?" she whispered, surreptitiously. 
 
 Miss Summers shook her head with foreboding. 
 
 "Still the same. No better; no worse. Sally, I'm 
 afraid." 
 
 Sally looked down at Miss Summers. How strangely 
 their relation had been altered by this weekend's doings ! 
 Wherever Sally glanced she knew that what she saw 
 was now potentially her own. By the simple act of 
 marrying Gaga she had become, as it were, mistress of 
 the place. And she knew it. She knew it plainly and 
 without swollen conceitedness. Not yet was her power 
 unquestionable; but it was none the less genuine. Even 
 Miss Summers . . . 
 
 "I hope she gets better," said Sally. 
 
 Miss Summers shot a quick glance upwards. She start- 
 ed, and a faint redness came into her plump cheeks. The 
 tip of her nose was irritated, and she rubbed it with her 
 knuckle. 
 
 "Oh, I do hope so," breathed Miss Summers. "It 
 would be awful awful for all of us if she didn't. You 
 see . . ." 
 
 "She'll have to die some time," remarked Sally. 
 
 "But now !" The head was shaken afresh. Miss Sum- 
 mers gave a heavy sigh. She had no such youthful con- 
 fidence as Sally's. She was a born follower, a born sheep; 
 and with Madam removed she could see nothing ahead 
 but disaster to the business. Sally had a little difficulty in 
 keeping back her smile. She thought of this poor old
 
 CONSEQUENCES 225 
 
 pussycat in fear of her life, and her lip slightly curled 
 at the knowledge that she alone had superior knowledge 
 of the situation. Already Sally was casting round for 
 channels in which her new power might be used. She 
 wanted opportunity. It was both a chagrin and a secret 
 relief to her that Madam could not yet be told of the 
 marriage. If she knew it, and disapproved, as Sally knew 
 that she must do, Madam could at any moment annul 
 Sally's hopes of taking a leading part in the business. 
 She could alter her will. Therefore, if she lived, she 
 must be kept ignorant. It would be a trouble. And yet 
 in spite of her assurance Sally was still suspicious of her 
 own ability to master every detail in time to carry on the 
 whole establishment without a great lapse into momentary 
 failure. She planned as a middle-aged woman. At eigh- 
 teen her plans were profound. But instinctively, and in 
 spite of colossal conceit, she understood that eighteen was 
 not an age at which control can successfully be taken of 
 a large business. Therefore she was fighting against un- 
 acknowledged fear. 
 
 During that day she hardly saw Gaga at all. He was 
 at home with his mother, and did not come to business 
 until the afternoon. Only in the evening did she creep 
 into his room and submit to his endearments. She then 
 left, and went to the hotel at which for the present they 
 were to stay ; and here, in the little sitting-room attached 
 to their bedroom, she was for the first time able to be 
 alone for half-an-hour with her post-nuptial reflections. 
 They were not all pleasant, and they called for the exer- 
 cise of her natural resoluteness. She had comfort, and 
 the knowledge that she need never again trouble about 
 food and clothing. But she also knew that a husband is 
 a different sort of person from a lover. He seemed to 
 her to be a sort of omnipresent nuisance. Her trouble was 
 that thoughts and ambitions were in conflict with Gaga's
 
 226 COQUETTE 
 
 amorousness. He could never understand her. He could 
 understand her no better than Toby, and as she had no 
 use for him otherwise than as the instrument of her am- 
 bition, she was already, within two days of marriage, 
 bored with him. Sally awaited Gaga's arrival with calm 
 unwillingness. She did not realise how rapid would be 
 her instinctive progress to repugnance; but she had no 
 illusions about her marriage. 
 
 At last Gaga arrived, his own eagerness unabated, but 
 he was still shaken by the fact that his mother was se- 
 riously ill. With Sally in his arms he whispered or mur- 
 mured alternately professions of love and anxiety. She 
 was all the time secretly astonished at his devotion to 
 Madam, because it corresponded to nothing in her own 
 nature; but she comforted Gaga because it was her im- 
 pulse to do so. She did not dislike him in this mood. 
 She felt pity for him. It was only for his tremulous per- 
 sistency in caress that Sally felt contempt. Gradually she 
 began to be able to divert his mind to other matters to 
 their own future, and the flat they were to take and to 
 furnish ; and to the plans they must make for a slow 
 change of her position in the business. Already Sally 
 was obtaining a grasp of the details, but she could go 
 little further until her access to the books and accounts 
 was free. She could do nothing until some scheme had 
 been made. So the two sat together after dinner and dis- 
 cussed what they were to do, and where they were to live, 
 and how the rooms of the flat were to be furnished. It 
 was all, upon Sally's side, practical and clear; and for 
 Gaga a wonderful revelation of Sally's wisdom. He be- 
 came more and more infatuated, as Sally became more 
 and more cool. And they talked the whole evening 
 through, without realising that with each moment Sally's 
 dominion was more firmly established. 
 
 It was only towards the end of the evening that Gaga,
 
 CONSEQUENCES 227 
 
 unhinged by excitement, became desperately pale, and 
 confessed to a headache. He found his customary drugs, 
 and took them. But to Sally this headache was a new and 
 emphatic indication of Gaga's troublesome temperament. 
 Ugliness and squalor she knew; but sickliness was new 
 to her. In face of a groaning and prostrate man, she 
 turned away. Her heart sank a little. Then, with a 
 shrug, she turned to the advertisements of flats to let in 
 London which she found in various newspapers; and 
 made notes of the addresses of house agents. This occu- 
 pation she continued until Gaga called almost fretfully 
 from the next room, when she turned off the electric light 
 and joined him. An hour later, while Gaga still lay star- 
 ing into the darkness, Sally was fast asleep. She had 
 no dreams. For the present she was occupied with facts 
 alone ; and she did not suspect that she was unhappy, be- 
 cause she had been absorbing too many details to be able 
 to reflect upon the sinking of her heart and its meaning. 
 
 The next evening Sally went to see her mother. Her 
 first object was to get Mrs. Minto away from the room 
 in which they had lived; because it was essential that if 
 Toby came back, as she believed he could not do for some 
 days, he should be unable to trace Sally or her mother. 
 It was for fear of Toby that the removal was to be made. 
 Once get Mrs. Minto away, to some other part of North 
 London, and Toby might seek news of Sally in vain. Only 
 if he came and waited outside Madam's would he be able 
 to find her; and in that case she could still baulk him, as 
 she was going to stay late every evening for the future 
 in order to work with Gaga. But first of all, Sally must 
 arrange to get her mother out of the old house. She 
 would not want to go. She must go. She would pretend
 
 228 COQUETTE 
 
 that she could keep herself. She would show the stub- 
 born pride of many old people of the working class, who 
 will work until they kill themselves rather than accept 
 charitable doles. Very well, Sally knew that Mrs. Minto 
 could not keep herself ; and she knew also that these same 
 old people have no similar delicacy in taking from their 
 children's earnings. She was going to explain that she 
 was still working, and that what Mrs. Minto would re- 
 ceive came from Sally herself, and not from Sally's hus- 
 band. And she would herself find a room for her mother 
 in Stoke Newington, a suburb which is farther from 
 Holloway than many more distant places for the reason 
 that no dweller in Holloway has any curiosity about Stoke 
 Newington or any impulse to go there as an adventure. 
 
 Sally found Mrs. Minto in a familiar attitude, stoop- 
 ing over a very small fire; but as she ran up the stairs 
 very softly, with a nervous dread of Toby, she had no 
 conception of the welcome which awaited her. She opened 
 the door and went into the dingy room, and stood smiling ; 
 and to her great surprise she saw her mother rise almost 
 wildly and come towards her. Two thin arms pressed 
 and fondled her, and a thin old cheek was pressed hard 
 against her own. To herself Mrs. Minto was ejaculating 
 in a shivering way: "My baby, my baby!" Only then 
 did Sally understand how much the separation had meant 
 to her mother. She herself had never once thought of 
 that lonely figure at home. 
 
 "Poor old thing!" Sally found herself saying. "Was 
 she lonely then?" She patted her mother's bony shoulders, 
 and hugged her, affected by this involuntary betrayal of 
 love. Mrs. Minto had never been demonstrative. "I 
 wish I'd brought you something, now. A present. I 
 never thought of it.'* 
 
 "Is it all right? Are you happy, my dearie?" demand- 
 ed Mrs. Minto, with a searching glance.
 
 CONSEQUENCES 229 
 
 "I knew what I was doing, ma," proclaimed Sally. 
 "There's not much I don't know." 
 
 It was an evasion; a confession of something quite 
 other than the happiness about which she had been asked. 
 
 "Ah, that's what I was afraid of . . ." breathed her 
 mother. "That's what young people always think. You 
 don't know nothing at all, Sally." 
 
 "I know more'n you do !" It was a defiance. 
 
 "You think you do. Why, you're only a baby. . . ." 
 Mrs. Minto shook her head several times, with lugubrious 
 effect. But her last words had been full of a smothered 
 affection, more truly precious than a hundred of Gaga's 
 kisses or a dozen of Toby's animal hugs. 
 
 "In your days I should have been." Sally withdrew 
 herself, and led her mother back to her chair. "Not 
 know! Why, the girls know a lot more now than they 
 used to when you was a girl. No more timid little crea- 
 tures." 
 
 "They only think they know more," declared Mrs. 
 Minto, trembling. "And it takes 'em longer to find out 
 they don't know nothing at all. It takes a lot of time to 
 get to know. You're in too much of a hurry, my gel. 
 You don't know nothing. Nothing whatever, for all your 
 talk of it. I been thinking about it all these days fran- 
 tic, I've been." 
 
 "All these yearsl" jeered Sally. "Look here, ma. . . . 
 Here's my marriage license !" And as she spoke she waved 
 the folded paper before her mother's eyes in such a way 
 that it fell open and showed the official entries. Even 
 as she did this so lightly, Sally was able to catch the 
 sharply hidden expression of relief which crossed Mrs. 
 Minto's face at the reassurance. She made no pretence 
 of misunderstanding. "Say I don't know anything?" 
 she demanded. "Think I don't know enough for that? 
 Silly old fool? What did I tell you? There's about
 
 230 COQUETTE 
 
 twenty million things I know that you don't know. And 
 never will know, what's more. Wake up ! I tell you one 
 thing, ma. The people who don't know think a lot worse 
 than the people who do. They fancy more. See? It's 
 a little way they got. All goes on inside their heads, and 
 shakes about. People like me haven't got time to think 
 a lot of muck. We do things . . . and do them thor- 
 ough." 
 
 Mrs. Minto, reproved, sank into contemplation. 
 
 "Well, I don't know, Sally," she went on, after a pause. 
 "You talk a lot. I'd rather think than talk. You say 
 he's rich. Sometimes girls get left." 
 
 "Not me, though," Sally assured her. "Soppy ones 
 do. I'm not soppy. And I'll tell you what. I'm going 
 to get you out of this place." 
 
 "I ain't going to live with you and him!" declared Mrs. 
 Minto in alarm. "I wouldn't !" 
 
 "No. You're going to live somewhere else. I want 
 you to get away from here. You're going to have two 
 decent rooms ... in Stoke Newington. Real paper on 
 the walls, and a carpet, and new mattress that isn't like 
 two horse troughs." 
 
 "I won't take nothing from him." 
 
 "No. From me. Out of my wages." 
 
 "You ain't going to have . . . Don't be silly. I'm 
 well off where I am." 
 
 "I'm going to keep on at Madam's. I'm going to have 
 plenty money. And you're going to move. Got it ? I'll 
 see about it to-morrow night, get you in Thursday or 
 Friday. Won't take an hour to settle you in. Then 
 you'll be comfortable." 
 
 "I'm very well as I am," said Mrs. Minto, obstinately. 
 "I can keep myself. I'm not going to sponge on you. 
 Not likely." 
 
 "You'll move Thursday or Friday, I tell you."
 
 CONSEQUENCES 231 
 
 It was final. The poor thin little old woman had no 
 fight in her. She looked up at Sally, and her face was the 
 anxious face of a monkey, or of a sick beast that is being 
 tended. Now that she had been comforted about Sally 
 she had nothing left to say. She made a last feeble ef- 
 fort. 
 
 "I don't want to move. Mrs. Roberson . . ." 
 
 "Fiddlesticks!" 
 
 "My 'ead!" 
 
 "Your head'll get better if you keep quiet and have real 
 coal and a bath or two." Sally was imperious, and en- 
 joyingly so. Her spirits had risen. She was a general. 
 She looked down protectingly at her mother, and a ghost 
 of ancient love rose breathing in her heart. "Silly old 
 thing !" she murmured, with a touch of softness ; and knelt 
 suddenly. "Got to look after you a bit," she added. "It's 
 you who's the baby now. What a lot of kids people are ! 
 Makes me feel a hundred and over when I see what 
 fools they are. I'm sorry for you, and that's the truth. 
 You and Miss Summers and Gaga." 
 
 "Who's Gaga?" 
 
 "He's Mr. Sally Minto," said Sally with mystic inso- 
 lence. "That's who Gaga is. He calls himself my hus- 
 band, but he's no more my husband than you are, ma. 
 And never will be. But oh, Lor! He's going to be the 
 worry of my life! Ma, did Pa chase you all over the 
 place when you was married ? I mean, chase you all about 
 trying to kiss you and fuss you?" 
 
 "No, dear," said Mrs. Minto. "He was drunk. He 
 didn't know what he was doing." 
 
 "Hn." Sally grunted. Then she stood up again. "I'm 
 going now," she announced. "I'm going back to Gaga. 
 He's ill. I expect he's being sick." 
 
 And before her mother could make startled enquiries, 
 Sally had kissed her and gone to the door. She ran in
 
 232 COQUETTE 
 
 high spirits down the stairs and out of the front door, 
 not laughing, but in a curious way moved by this conver- 
 sation and the strange turn which it had taken. She 
 slammed the door after her, and met with a sudden squall 
 of wind. And as she went away from the house she was 
 conscious of a feeling of relief. She had escaped from 
 it, and her heart was beating rather fast. All the time, 
 under her speech and her thoughts, she had unconscious- 
 ly been listening for Toby's step upon the stair. Even 
 now, she knew that her shoulders were contracted with 
 apprehensiveness. 
 
 She hurried along in the direction of Holloway Road, 
 still flinching, with her nerves uncommonly strained. It 
 was such an odd feeling that she had in thus revisiting her 
 ugly old home. She had noticed it all afresh the tired 
 linoleum, and the oil stove and the tiny fire made from 
 coal blocks, and the stupid old bed and the browned wall- 
 paper and she felt that it all belonged to a time when 
 she had been a different girl altogether. She had never 
 before been away from home, without her mother, for so 
 long. She had never once been away from this room for a 
 night, until her marriage. And to come thus into the dark 
 street, in a wind, with the door slamming behind her, 
 took Sally's memories uncontrollably back to the days 
 which followed their first arrival, the days when she had 
 met Toby and talked to him and walked with him about 
 the streets. She recalled her visit to Mrs. Perce, and the 
 sight of that grim figure relentlessly waiting for her out- 
 side the Stores ; and the struggle with Toby, and her re- 
 sultant happiness ; and the night when he had first come 
 to the room while her mother lay in the hospital. Heigho ! 
 She had been young in those days; now she felt an old 
 woman, with all the sense of ageless age which the young 
 feel after a transition from one kind of life to another. 
 She was in a sense disillusioned. She had taken her step,
 
 CONSEQUENCES 233 
 
 and cut the link that bound her to this neighbourhood 
 and the starveling room. She had cut the link that 
 bound her to Toby. And he was now swiftly back in her 
 consciousness, in her heart; so that she knew she would 
 never forget him because he was the first man she had 
 loved, and thus forever her idea of a lover. So strong 
 was her emotion that she felt a strange little dryness in 
 her throat and her burning eyes, and fancied she heard 
 his voice. It was as though two years had been taken 
 away, as though she once again as she done two years 
 ago longed and feared to meet Toby. 
 
 As Sally, with her head bent and her thoughts active, 
 pressed onward, she heard the clanging bell of a passing 
 tramcar, and saw its brilliant lights rush by along the 
 Holloway Road. A cart rattled on the rough stones of 
 the road, and the wind blew the leaves of the bushes in 
 the gardens she passed. And as she shivered a little at 
 the wind's onset she again imagined that she heard Toby's 
 voice, and inevitably turned in the direction from which 
 the sound had appeared to reach her. Everything was 
 quite dark ; but there was a blackness just behind her that 
 was like the figure of a man. It took shape; it came 
 nearer and nearer. Sally's heart stopped beating, and she 
 shrank back against the railing of one of the houses. She 
 felt a deadly sickness upon her, a dreadful horror. 
 
 "Sally!" 
 
 It was Toby. He was abreast, inescapable. He loomed 
 over her like a figure of vengeance. Her heart was like 
 water. She was hysterically afraid. 
 
 vi 
 
 "Hallo, Sally!" Toby was by her side, and his arms 
 round her, and his kisses on her cheek. "Why, aren't you 
 going to kiss me?"
 
 234 COQUETTE 
 
 Sally's eyes opened wide at his tone of innocent sur- 
 prise. She suffered him to kiss her lips. Toby had not 
 received her letter! He was on leave, and . . . She 
 gasped. An indescribable relief caused her to rest limply 
 and unprotestingly in his arms. Once again they were 
 engulfed in merciful darkness, hidden from each other 
 and from anybody who might happen to pass. She could 
 not think at all; but she was thankful at this reprieve. 
 Not yet would he kill her. And as they stood embraced 
 she was suddenly happy, with a passion that astonished 
 her. Toby Toby, her love; and she herself in his arms 
 again, as she had never thought to be. A strange laugh, 
 low and tender, came from her lips. Her cheek was 
 gently rubbed against his, and her body quite relaxed. 
 Every one of Sally's difficulties suffered an oblivion; they 
 were all dispersed in the extraordinary mist of sensation 
 which enwrapped her. 
 
 "I was surprised," she murmured, kissing him with all 
 her heart. "Didn't expect to see you. Funny to see 
 you ... so funny . . . and when I was thinking of 
 you. I must have known you were coming." 
 
 "I just got in," Toby said. "I say, where you going, 
 Sal?" 
 
 Sally flinched again. Immediately she was conscious 
 of terror. 
 
 "Stoke Newington," she cried; in a flash. What was 
 she to do? What was she to do? She was desperate. 
 Fear was strong ; but love was stronger. It was not only 
 now that she did not dare to tell him the truth in case 
 he killed her; much more than that was her understanding 
 of the fact that she could not bear to lose him. Such a 
 gust of thankfulness had shaken Sally when she knew 
 that Toby had not received her letter that she was brim- 
 ming now with joy. It was impossible to lose her rapture 
 at the moment of its full glory. She could not tell him.
 
 CONSEQUENCES 235 
 
 "Stoke Newington? Whatever for? Here, wait till 
 I've had some grub. . . . No, I'll come with you now. 
 Get some grub later. Have you got to go there now?" 
 
 "You musn't come, Toby." 
 
 "Why not?" He was instantly suspicious. His grip 
 tightened, and he forced her to look at him. 
 
 "Didn't you get my letter?" 
 
 "When ? Now ? I've had no letter. What you going 
 to Stoke Newington for ? No, I want to know. You go- 
 ing to meet another chap? I believe you are, you little 
 devil! By Christ! If you ... I will come!" Toby 
 was now fiercely suspicious. She could tell from his fe- 
 rocious grip, and the urgency of his tone. "If you're 
 playing that game, I'll kill you. By Christ, I will !" 
 
 "I'm not. I'm not," cried Sally. "You're hurting me, 
 Toby!" 
 
 "You swear it?" He relaxed his hold, which was 
 strangling her. In the darkness he again strove to see 
 her expression and judge for himself of her honesty. 
 
 "I'm not going to see anybody. I swear I'm not." 
 
 "Why did you ask if I'd had your letter? What you 
 bin writing to me?" 
 
 "Oo, a lot of lies . . ." breathed Sally. "Silly talk and 
 rubbish. That's all it was." 
 
 "What about?" He was still intense. Sally could hard- 
 ly breathe, and her courage was fading. They were so 
 much in the darkness that they could not be seen, and 
 she was entirely dominated by Toby's physical strength. 
 Within his grasp she was helpless, and not all her dart- 
 ingly-imagined expedients would be enough to secure her 
 escape. Hastily she improvised a story. 
 
 "Well, I'm not living with ma any longer. I gone out 
 to live in," she lied. 
 
 "Stoke Newington?" 
 
 "No."
 
 236 COQUETTE 
 
 "Lost your job?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 He was baffled ! but he knew that something was amiss. 
 Sally could feel him drawing deep breaths. In the shad- 
 ow she could imagine that his jaw was firmly set. It 
 was strange to feel so happy in his arms, so afraid of 
 death, so frustrate in the composition of any tale by which 
 she could free herself and thus gain time to make some 
 fresh plan. Sally had never been in a comparable quand- 
 ary. 
 
 "Where you living?" he next demanded. 
 
 "Don't be rough. You're hurting. Well, I'm living 
 ... I forget the address. Only went there last night. 
 I'm with a friend." 
 
 "What sort of a friend? A girl? What's her name?" 
 
 "Miss Summers." 
 
 Toby considered. He had heard that name, Sally knew, 
 and must remember it. She felt that at last she had 
 stumbled upon something which would seem to him prob- 
 able enough to allay immediate suspicion. 
 
 "She's your forewoman or something, isn't she?" he 
 demanded. 
 
 "Yes. She's very kind. She's ever so nice." Sally 
 prayed that he might believe her. There was a long pause 
 of doubt, during which hysteria, rising, nearly provoked 
 a frantic struggle for freedom and flight. But she re- 
 membered a former occasion, and her knees were weak 
 at the foreknowledge of failure. He would not be merci- 
 ful. She feared him and adored him. 
 
 "Well," Toby said at last, in a grumble; "when do I 
 see you? Eh?" Thank God, his voice had changed. He 
 had spoken slowly and in acceptance of the tale. Sally 
 conquered a sob that would have betrayed her. Toby had 
 been tricked. There was still a chance that she might 
 be able to manage him for the present.
 
 CONSEQUENCES 237 
 
 Sally thought for a moment, but in a distracted blur. 
 All her plans, made upon the assumption that he would be 
 at sea for at least a week longer, had miscarried. There 
 was now no sense in moving her mother hurriedly and 
 secretly. Toby, in the room above, would be aware of 
 everything. She must arrange this differently. It would 
 need a careful scheme. When would Toby receive his 
 letter? Probably it would not be forwarded at all, but 
 would be kept at the offices of the shipping company. 
 That was what had happened once or twice before. He 
 would be at home a week. She had a week. How tired 
 she was ! She must get away now, and have a chance to 
 think; but she must see Toby again. She must. 
 
 "To-morrow," Sally gasped. "To-morrow night. Eight 
 o'clock. Marble Arch. Eight o'clock, or a bit after. I 
 might be kept a little late." 
 
 To her inexpressable thankfulness, Toby rather grum- 
 blingly agreed. 
 
 "We'll go to the pictures," he said. "There's a picture 
 house there." 
 
 "Wherever you like. Toby, I must go." 
 
 They kissed long and passionately ; and when Sally was 
 alone, sitting in the tramcar on its way to Holborn, she 
 found that she was trembling from head to foot. She 
 was in consternation, and prevented from crying only by 
 the steadily inquisitive stare of a stout woman opposite. 
 Sally had never been so afraid, so distraught. She had 
 never been in such a bewildering and terrifying difficulty. 
 She was only half conscious. 
 
 
 
 Vll 
 
 And when she reached the hotel their sitting-room was 
 in darkness. Gaga had evidently been home, for the 
 evening paper had been thrown upon the floor, and his
 
 238 COQUETTE 
 
 hat and coat were upon one of the chairs. Sally remem- 
 bered what she had told her mother, and went quickly 
 to the bedroom door. It was true. Gaga lay groaning 
 in bed, and there was a faint smell of sickness in the air. 
 Sally instinctively recoiled, and went back into the sit- 
 ting-room. Her hands came together and jerked in a 
 gesture of despair. Everything was against her. The 
 white face was whiter ; the mischievous eyes were sombre. 
 She was a lonely and frightened child without any sup- 
 port in her life. She was too young, in spite of her vi- 
 vacity, to endure such trials unbroken ; and in this situa- 
 tion she was overwhelmed. 
 
 With her hands to her mouth, Sally stumbled to the 
 hearthrug, and bowed her head against the arm of a chair. 
 Painful sobs shook her body. 
 
 "Oh, I wish I was dead! I wish I was dead!" she 
 wailed. 
 
 In that moment of lost hope she was faced only with 
 the impossibility of dealing with all her trials. She had 
 been over-excited, and she was desperate. Everything 
 had gone wrong. She was thus early face to face with 
 the consequences of her own blithe and over-confident 
 actions ; and the consequences threatened disaster. Death 
 would really at this moment have seemed better than the 
 effort she must make to grapple with her problems. It 
 would have been so much easier, and she was without 
 courage. Afraid lest her sobs might arouse Gaga and 
 bring him groaning to her side, she stifled them. But 
 they made her body heave for a long time, until at last 
 with tear-filled eyes she stared at the fire, and knew that 
 the fit was over. 
 
 What was Sally to do? There was the fatal letter al- 
 ready waiting 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
 
 CONSEQUENCES 239 
 
 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 impossi- 
 ble. She could not. She would not. She wanted every- 
 thing. She wanted Toby; but she wanted her opportu- 
 nity 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 wil fulness of the individual a steady pres- 
 sure that is without mercy because it is without consid- 
 erateness. 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.
 
 240 COQUETTE 
 
 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, fight- 
 ing 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 aver- 
 sion 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 cling- 
 ing 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 Bov- 
 ril . . . 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
 
 CONSEQUENCES 241 
 
 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 diffculties. She was absolutely un- 
 able 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 ex- 
 claimed, 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 uncontrol- 
 lable restlessness. 
 
 "Sally!" came the grizzling voice of Gaga.
 
 242 COQUETTE 
 
 "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 morn- 
 ing found her still irresolute, filled with distaste for Gaga, 
 and fear of Toby, and a general loathing of the diffi- 
 culties 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 per- 
 son 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
 
 CONSEQUENCES 243 
 
 some scapegoat; but his sickness and his peevish com- 
 plaints 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 dis- 
 tant ; and Sally sat opposite to him at their chilly break- 
 fast 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 hid- 
 ing 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 worry- 
 ing about Madam and Madam's health. By now Gaga 
 would be on his way to his mother's home, equally con- 
 cerned. 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 conclu-
 
 244 COQUETTE 
 
 sion. Late in the afternoon there came a telephone mes- 
 sage. 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 un- 
 forgiven. 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 pro- 
 found 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 re- 
 turned 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
 
 CONSEQUENCES 245 
 
 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 afternon 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 some- 
 thing 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 meet- 
 ing. Her old longing for Toby had come back with ex- 
 traordinary 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 
 dock she passed until the vagaries of them all so height- 
 ened 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
 
 246 COQUETTE 
 
 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 for- 
 warded to him? Perhaps he was not coming? Much as 
 she had dreaded his violence, such a failure now im- 
 pressed 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.
 
 CONSEQUENCES 247 
 
 "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, / 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 reck- 
 lessly 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 run- 
 ning through her at his nearness and his strong clasp. 
 Every now and then she prompted him to kiss her; and
 
 248 COQUETTE 
 
 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 com- 
 paratively 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 estrange- 
 ment. 
 
 And then Sally remembered Gaga. She had been 
 laughing so much in herself at this long evening of free- 
 dom, 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 over- 
 whelmed by the old horror of her situation which had
 
 CONSEQUENCES 249 
 
 newly arisen after this short respite of dreaming. Toby 
 let her walk alone, and lighted a cigarette, slouching be- 
 side 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 in- 
 clinations. 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 dark- 
 ness 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 un- 
 expected 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 extraordi- 
 nary 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 !"
 
 250 COQUETTE 
 
 She ended almost in a scream, and her fists were 
 frantically jerked. 
 
 "Here!" Toby was disconcerted. "What you talk- 
 ing 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 to- 
 gether. 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 under- 
 tone 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 temp- 
 tation 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-cry- 
 ing, and in vehement surrender. She could see no fur- 
 ther, 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!"
 
 CONSEQUENCES 251 
 
 In the morning Sally awoke with a heavy heart. Fore- 
 boding 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 excep- 
 tional 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 in- 
 creased. 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, ir- 
 resistibly lovable. The smile deepened; but she did not 
 speak. She made no movement at all ; and Toby, stretch- 
 ing out a lazy arm, put it round her waist. 
 
 "Ugh!" he said, grunting with satisfaction. With
 
 252 COQUETTE 
 
 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 ex- 
 pression accusing. "Used to it, are you?" 
 
 "No!" answered Sally. 
 
 "What did you get it for?" 
 
 Sally could not hide her trembling. She was blanched,
 
 CONSEQUENCES 253 
 
 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 help- 
 less 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!" 
 
 "It's not!" cried Sally. With a tremendous effort for 
 self-control she checked a sob that would have plunged 
 her into hysteria. "I'm married!" 
 
 Toby fell away, his mouth open. The release sent 
 Sally against the wall once more. He stood looking at 
 her, his face grey, his eyes smouldering. 
 
 "You tell me that ?" he said. "Married !" 
 
 "Yes. Married."
 
 254 COQUETTE 
 
 He did not speak. He eyed her with a sombre and 
 threatening appraisement. Then, more quietly, he went 
 on: 
 
 "You can't be. You're mine. You belong to me. No- 
 body else can't have you !" 
 
 "Nobody else can have me. But I'm married, all 
 right," Sally told him. She was recovering some com- 
 posure. When she moistened her lips she glanced side- 
 ways at him, like lightning. Toby had not struck her. 
 He was too surprised. 
 
 "Married . . . And you come here with me. Liar!" 
 
 "My husband's away . . . We don't . . . His 
 mother's ill. I don't love him never did. We were 
 only married a few days ago. I wrote to you. You 
 never got the letter." 
 
 "Oh, that's why . . ." Toby's tone was vengeful. 
 His fists were clenched. 
 
 "See, Toby, I only love you. Only you. But he's rich. 
 We ... I don't sleep with him, Toby. He's never . . ." 
 
 "You liar!" Toby approached her. Sally could see 
 his teeth glistening. 
 
 "I swear it's true. Toby!" 
 
 Toby suddenly caught her a blow on the arm which 
 sent her spinning across the tiny room. She held on to 
 the mantelpiece to save a fall. They were both panting 
 now ; but Toby was like a bulldog. The colour was re- 
 turning to his cheeks. He was watching Sally, as she 
 was watching him. She was ready to dodge a further 
 blow; but she knew that if he was determined to kill 
 her nothing would stop him. She was filled with abject 
 fear at her own physical powerlessness. But by now 
 her wits were alert again. Toby made a movement, and 
 Sally started, ready to dart away. He did not come 
 nearer. A stupidity seemed to descend upon him. 
 
 A loud rap at the door startled them both.
 
 CONSEQUENCES 255 
 
 "Hot water. Half-past seven. And less noise there!" 
 came a loud voice. The whole scene was transformed 
 by the interruption. Both became listless. 
 
 "Married!" Toby said, as if to himself. He shook 
 his head. 
 
 "I love you'' Sally told him. 
 
 He sat dully upon the bed. Timidly, for fear of 
 another outburst, Sally approached him. At last, stand- 
 ing by his side, she held Toby's head to her breast, kiss- 
 ing him with little fierce kisses that must have carried 
 their message to his heart. At last Toby's arms were 
 raised, and around her, and she was pressed to him once 
 more. Their lips met. Toby made a muffled, snarling 
 sound that was a mixture of love and hatred and master- 
 fulness. He held her with ferocity. Then, as suddenly, 
 his muscles relaxed, until Sally by repeated endearments 
 baffled his indignation and softened his anger. She was 
 struggling with all her might to keep possession of him, 
 moving each instant with more assurance among his dull 
 thoughts and his easily-roused passions. As the moments 
 passed she knew that she had kept him, and at this knowl- 
 edge her own passion rose until it equalled Toby's. 
 
 "My love," she whispered. "My dear love." 
 
 xi 
 
 Later in the day, when she was able to think of all 
 that had happened, Sally had an unexpected glimpse of 
 the situation. She realised that she was a victor. She 
 was almost too satisfied. She had no shame, no contri- 
 tion; she merely knew that if she might still keep Toby 
 her marriage with Gaga would be bearable. She had 
 none of the turmoil of the conventional married woman 
 who takes a lover; but then she had never been trained 
 to be scrupulous. She was still young enough to be in-
 
 256 COQUETTE 
 
 toxicated by her own prowess. She could manage Gaga ; 
 she could manage Toby; she could manage the busi- 
 ness there was no end to her power. More than any- 
 thing else, it was necessity to her to gratify her sense 
 of power. If that necessity had been removed she would 
 have known herself for a reckless fool; but the demand 
 for power obliterated every inconvenient thought of risk. 
 As for a sense of honour, Sally had been born without 
 one. 
 
 All the girls looked at her "very old-fashioned," as 
 they would have said, when she arrived in the morning; 
 but as the day wore on, and there was no further tele- 
 phone message for her from Gaga, they began to for- 
 get what had happened on the previous day. Sally 
 worked like a mouse, her brain exulting in its vivid 
 memories of her time with Toby; and she did not think 
 of Gaga at all. She only hoped that he would not come 
 to the office. She was feeling too tired to deal effectively 
 with any peevishness from Gaga; although, the causes 
 of her hysteria having been removed, she was not likely 
 to repeat the failure of that other restless night. A heavi- 
 ness hung upon her as the day wore on ; a kind of thick 
 readiness for sleep. She yawned over her work. The 
 workroom seemed stuffy, the day unusually long. The 
 nervou.s strain of the past few days was reacting, and 
 even Sally's vitality was shaken by the consequences of 
 her successive excitements. When tea-time came she was 
 relieved. But there had been no news of Gaga, or from 
 him : not even a message through Miss Summers. Miss 
 Summers grew more and more fidgetty and anxious as 
 the hours went by. 
 
 "I do hope nothing's happened," she clucked. "So 
 funny not having heard. I wonder if I ought to tele- 
 phone to ask. Perhaps Mr. Bertram's ill. Did you see 
 him last night? D'you think I ought to ring up? I'm
 
 CONSEQUENCES 257 
 
 so worried. It's so strange, and Madam being so ill, 
 and that." 
 
 "I shouldn't worry," urged Sally. "He'll 'phone fast 
 enough if there's anything to say. Look at yesterday." 
 
 "Yes; but perhaps he's ill himself." 
 
 "Sick," commented Sally. "He's bilious, you know." 
 
 Miss Summers shook her head, and sighed. 
 
 "Yes," she readily agreed. "I'm afraid he's not the 
 man his mother is." 
 
 They had hardly finished speaking when Miss Sum- 
 mers was called to the telephone. She was away for two 
 or three minutes; and returned with tears streaming 
 down her cheeks. All their pink plumpness was softened 
 into a blur of tearful weakness. She was bent and dis- 
 solved under disaster. As she made her way up the 
 long workroom to her place the girls all craned their 
 necks to look at Miss Summers, and one or two the 
 kinder ones rose to see if they could do anything to 
 comfort her. But it was to Sally that Miss Summers 
 turned, and within an inch of Sally's cheeks that she 
 shook her tear-stained face. At first she could not speak ; 
 but grimaced like a child, as if her cold nose was smart- 
 ing. Sally was first to hear the news; but all of them 
 had known it from the first glimpse of Miss Summers 
 in tears. 
 
 "She's gone," cried Miss Summers. "Poor soul, she's 
 gone. And what will happen to us I don't know." 
 
 "We'll be all right," Sally murmured, with singular 
 confidence. A shock had slightly discomposed her, but 
 it was not a shock of sorrow for the death of Madame 
 Gala. Rather was it a passing thrill of dismay at her 
 own responsibility, which her reassuring speech had been 
 intended to remove. 
 
 "She's dead . . . Madam's dead . . ." ran through 
 the workroom. One girl hurried to tell Miss Rapson and
 
 258 COQUETTE 
 
 the workers in her department, who came crowding im- 
 mediately into the room, agog with excitement. They 
 all gathered together in a body, and then in detached 
 groups, talking fast. 
 
 "I s'pose we'll all have a day off for the funeral," 
 somebody said with a giggle. 
 
 "Oo, yes. Sure to. And have to wear mourning," 
 added another girl, more solemnly and hopefully. 
 
 Sally stood, as if by right, with Miss Summers and 
 Miss Rapson. She was definitely a principal figure in 
 the scene. Just as the other girls began to notice this, 
 and murmuringly to comment upon it as a piece of char- 
 acteristic impudence, Miss Summers had a quick return 
 of memory. Gesticulating with helpless impatience, she 
 said: 
 
 "Oh, Sally; I'd quite forgotten. Mr. Bertram is ill. 
 And the nurse said he was asking to see you. Yes, ask- 
 ing to see ... Miss Minto." 
 
 Asking to see Sally Minto ! There was a thrill among 
 the girls that was even greater than the one which they 
 had felt at the news of Madam's death. Gaga asking to 
 see Sally Minto! Whew! Everything became electric. 
 Rose Anstey coloured deeply, and turned upon her heel. 
 Sally knew they were all staring at her, like fish in an 
 aquarium. With something approaching dignity she 
 ignored them and directly addressed Miss Summers. 
 
 "Did you mean he wanted me to go at once?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "Yes, child. Yes. At once. Better run along now 
 . . .'" Miss Summers was distracted, tearful, inclined 
 to kiss Sally, and altogether without knowledge of what 
 she was doing or what she ought to do. "Wait . . . 
 Tell him perhaps I ought to write a letter? Oh, dear! 
 I don't know . . ." She pressed her fingers to her tern-
 
 CONSEQUENCES 259 
 
 pies. "No, tell him how sorry we all are. Say if he 
 wants me . . . Run along, run along!" 
 
 "Yes, Miss Summers." 
 
 In a very leisurely manner, Sally rolled up her pina- 
 fore and put her work away. Then she washed and 
 dressed herself to go out. She walked back through the 
 workroom like a queen, sedately bidding Miss Summers 
 "good -afternoon" and smiling a cool farewell to the 
 girls. The buzz of their amazed whispering followed her 
 into the waiting-room. She felt their eyes like stings in 
 her back. On the way downstairs the memory of the 
 scene and an understanding of the girls' feelings made 
 her laugh. Well, that was that; and she was face to 
 face with her problem in its entirety. Unconsciously, 
 Sally walked more erect. 
 
 xn 
 
 Sally never went back to the workroom. She hurried 
 from it to the old house in Kensington in which the 
 Merricks had lived for years ; and as she saw the house, 
 so black with dust, and the steps that led up to the heavy 
 front door, even Sally's heart quailed. She hesitated for 
 several minutes before going up the steps, and loitered 
 there, a little figure in a grey dress, trim and chic, but 
 not at all the girl to take control of such a mansion and 
 of the difficulties which lay within. She could not tell 
 what a mass of custom the house indicated; but her 
 instinct was enough to make her feel extraordinarily 
 small, extraordinarily untrained and incapable. It had 
 been very well for her to suppose that everything could 
 be seized and controlled at a glance. The reality was 
 too solid for a longer dream. Thoughtless, over-confi- 
 dent as her fantasy had been, she had the sense which 
 a child has when a running man comes threateningly
 
 260 COQUETTE 
 
 near of a great shape, of unexpected size and danger- 
 ousness, looming out of the focussed picture, and setting 
 all previous conceptions at nought. Here was this giant 
 house, and Madam lying dead in it, and servants who 
 would resent her appearance, and Gaga; and Sally was 
 such a little girl in the face of a definite trial. She was 
 a little girl, and she would never be able to deal with 
 what lay ahead. It was a long, devastating spasm of 
 doubt, like a trembling of the earth. The house towered 
 above her, huge and gloomy; and other houses, equally 
 oppressive, continued from the Merricks' house, with 
 basements and railings and great black fronts and lace 
 curtains, until the road turned and its end was unseen. 
 And Sally, who had lived all her life in small flats and 
 single rooms, was shaken. Her heart sank. She entered 
 the house. Her head was high, from pride; but her 
 qualms were intense. An atmosphere of solemn melan- 
 choly made everybody speak in low tones. She had diffi- 
 culty in remaining calm. 
 
 All the rooms were large rooms, rilled with large furni- 
 ture and old pictures and prints. Madam had made her 
 home for comfort; and the taste which had marked her 
 other work was here subdued. An old clock ticked 
 steadily; and if there were no ancient horrors at least 
 the house within did not belie its serious front. Sally 
 was like a little doll, shrinking under the weight of such 
 solid comfort, and not yet able to appraise it in terms 
 of possession and disposal. She was still shy and timid. 
 Wherever, upon this first entrance, she looked round for 
 encouragement, she found none. During that first eve- 
 ning she was so miserable that she could have run away. 
 She was like a child that goes for the first time to school, 
 and feels bereft of every familiar support and associa- 
 tion. 
 
 But in the morning Sally found everything better. She
 
 CONSEQUENCES 261 
 
 saw Gaga's doctor, and she talked to the three servants. 
 She telephoned to Miss Summers and asked her to come 
 to the house in the afternoon. She wrote to Mrs. Perce 
 and to Toby. She nursed Gaga and refused to see the 
 dead body of his mother. Every minute which she spent 
 in the house increased her familiarity with it; and her 
 youth and smallness captivated the three middle-aged 
 servants, who were glad to have somebody there whom 
 they could advise. Sally had long been able to behave 
 as somebody other than a workgirl, and the servants were 
 so well-behaved that they did not make any attempt to 
 be too much at ease with her. Sally, moreover, looked 
 down with all the contempt of her class upon women 
 who worked in domestic service SKIVVIES ! She was 
 drawlingly refined with them, but not grotesquely so, and 
 they respected her. 
 
 First in importance among the things which Sally 
 had to seem to arrange was the funeral. She handed 
 all the details to the undertaker. This showed her to 
 be a general. From the first she followed the only pos- 
 sible plan to give carte blanche to those who had to deal 
 with matters of urgency. Gaga was all the time ill. His 
 mother's death had so broken down his strength and his 
 self-control J n t Sally often found him weak with cry- 
 ing; a pathetic n^re, in bed, woebegone and feeble. His 
 delight at seeing her was so violent that he had covered 
 her hands with kisses before he fell back exhausted upon 
 his pillow. He constantly called for her. The servants 
 noticed with clucked tongues how feverish was his devo- 
 tion ; but they also recognised Sally's patience. Sally was 
 angelic to Gaga. She tended him so protectively that 
 one might have thought her loving. And in the rest of 
 her free time she tried hard to learn about the house. 
 Mistakes she made, of course, and many of them; but
 
 262 COQUETTE 
 
 she was still shrewd, and if she was often superficial 
 and hasty, at least she was alert. 
 
 Miss Summers Sally found invaluable. Once Miss 
 Summers had overcome her surprise at the new order, 
 and once she had found that Sally was the old Sally, who 
 relied upon her, she rose to every call. Her kindness 
 and her generalship were unfailing. She it was who kept 
 the business moving at a trying time. In her hands 
 orders were filled with the expected promptitude and the 
 customary excellence. She obsequiously interviewed 
 those who came to be fitted; and her knowledge of the 
 business enabled her to satisfy these customers and make 
 them understand that in spite of the extraordinary con- 
 ditions they could still rely upon proper attention. She 
 was unsparing of her time and her devotion. She had 
 at last a satisfactory mission. 
 
 And all this Sally recognised. While Gaga claimed her 
 attention, and household affairs worried her, she did not 
 trouble very much about the business. Miss Summers 
 would come in the evening to Kensington, tell her the 
 news, and give advice upon other matters. The two had 
 long talks at night. Sally suddenly knew how valuable 
 a friend she had in Miss Summers. She knew the value 
 of an unselfish readiness to serve; and she herself was 
 generous enough and, in a sense, imaginative enough not 
 to exploit Miss Summers. There was a good understand- 
 ing between them. And Sally, as she looked round at 
 the mahogany furniture in this old house, and saw the 
 dull carpets and engravings which Madam had gathered 
 together in other days for the suitable adornment of her 
 rooms, could think of no better repayment than a gift 
 of some of the things which Miss Summers might prize, 
 and which Sally and Gaga could never use. It was char- 
 acteristic of her that she made this definite reservation; 
 but with Gaga's consent she finally made Miss Summers
 
 CONSEQUENCES 263 
 
 happy by such a lavish present that Sally might have 
 done many strange things without ever losing the loyalty 
 of her adjutant. 
 
 She slept by herself in a room connected with Gaga's 
 room by an open door. She was thus able to tend him 
 during his frequent fits of sickness and weakness, which 
 often took the form of long hypochondriacal attacks ; and 
 was at the same time given opportunity for active thought 
 and planning. Sally was very happy in these days, for 
 nothing gives greater happiness than incessant occupa- 
 tion that is flattering to the vanity. She walked with a 
 new air, looked about her with confidence and a sense of 
 ownership. Above all, she had reached that almost super- 
 human state she knew herself to be indispensable. 
 
 xiii 
 
 When Gaga seemed to be well enough, they went out 
 for a time each day, and Sally tried to interest him in 
 plans for a change of home. He was still so feeble that 
 he was rather listless and querulous; but when she told 
 him the sort of flat she wanted nearer town, and the 
 liprt of furniture, Gaga caught fire, and became enthusias- 
 tic. His eyes glowed. Much more gently than ever be- 
 fore, and to that extent more tolerably, he kissed her. 
 He proclaimed Sally's genius. Everything she suggested 
 appeared to him more excellent than the last thing: if 
 she had been a silly girl she might have been made reck- 
 less. But having interested him she became rather afraid 
 of his eager support. The flat was to be her flat. She 
 did not want Gaga blundering in with enthusiastic mis- 
 takes. And another thing was that the doctor warned 
 her about the dangers of excitement. 
 
 "Your husband's not a strong man, Mrs. Merrick,"
 
 264 COQUETTE 
 
 he said. "He's not even a sound man. You don't want 
 him to get too excited. It's bad for him. Go slow." 
 
 "I'll try," agreed Sally. But it was with a shrug. 
 "You see how he is. I mustn't be out of his sight ; and 
 yet something's got to be done." 
 
 "You're a very plucky girl," remarked the doctor, 
 feebly ; and he went away. 
 
 Sally's shrug had been sincere. She would have pre- 
 ferred to do everything alone; but to do so would have 
 been to make Gaga fully as ill as any over-excitement 
 could do. They accordingly went about together, look- 
 ing for a flat. They discovered one at last in May fair; 
 and decorations were begun there. It was not a large 
 flat, and the rooms were not all large ; but it was cosy, and 
 the furnishing of it was going to give Sally a satisfac- 
 tion hard to exceed. The two of them exulted in the flat. 
 They walked through and through it. They saw the 
 wallpapers and the paint, and admired everything in the 
 most delicious manner possible. 
 
 And then the doctor's warning was justified. Gaga 
 collapsed. He fainted in the flat, overcome by the smell 
 of paint and the excitement of proprietorship. With the 
 help of one of the painters Sally took him home in a cab 
 and put him to bed. The doctor arrived, nodded, and 
 was not in the least surprised or alarmed. Sally was 
 merely to be Gaga's nurse once more. It did not matter 
 to the doctor, who had no interest in Gaga except as a 
 patient. 
 
 "It's rough on you, though," he said to Sally. He was 
 a bald man of fifty, with a cold eye and a cold, fish-like, 
 hand. He was interested in nothing outside his pro- 
 fession and his meals. To him Sally was a plucky little 
 thing; but Sally could not find that he thought anything 
 more about her. She shrugged again. "So sorry," said 
 the doctor. "Good-bye."
 
 CONSEQUENCES 265 
 
 When he had gone, Sally frowned. Bother! All her 
 plans were interrupted. Her energies were subdued. 
 Thoughtfully, she began to consider how far she might 
 act alone. She wondered whether she might persuade 
 Gaga to let her go out in the mornings or the afternons. 
 He must do so, and yet she knew he would not like it. 
 Although the decision always lay with her, he had the 
 sick and nervous man's fussy wish to seem to make a 
 choice. He wanted to be there, to be heard, to announce 
 Sally's decision in a loud voice as his own. 
 
 "What a man he is !" thought Sally. "Big kid. Got to 
 have a say in everything. And he can't!" The last 
 words were spoken aloud, so vehemently did she feel 
 them. "He can't, because he doesn't know. O-o-oh!" 
 
 She beat one hand upon the other, in a sudden passion. 
 For a moment she had an unexpected return of hysteria. 
 And as she took two or three fierce paces Sally without 
 warning felt dizzy. She clung to a chair; and the dizzi- 
 ness immediately passed. It frightened her, none the 
 less, because she had been feeling unwell for some days, 
 and she had a horror of illness. 
 
 "Here, here!" she exclaimed. "None of that. / 
 mustn't get ill. Oh, lor! If I was to get ill wouldn't 
 there be a shimozzle! Gaga'd go off his head. And 
 everything else pouf !" 
 
 It amused her to realise this. It made her forget the 
 unexplained sick dizziness which had given rise to her 
 reflections, because the thing which Sally above every- 
 thing else had always desired was to be as important as 
 she now found herself. At the age of eighteen she was 
 dominating a world which she had long since determined 
 to conquer.
 
 266 COQUETTE 
 
 xiv 
 
 During the week following, Sally had no time for any- 
 thing but atendance upon Gaga. She was herself feeling 
 sick and wretched; and Gaga was very ill indeed. He 
 was sometimes extremely feeble, so that a lethargy fell 
 upon him and he lay so quiet that Sally believed him to 
 be asleep. But at her first movement he would unclose 
 his eyes and groan her name, groping with his fingers 
 to detain her. So she sat in his big square bedroom 
 with the drab walls and the plain furniture, watching the 
 daylight fade and pondering to herself. It was a gloomy 
 period, and it had a perceptible effect upon her vitality. 
 At other times Gaga would rally, would even sit up and 
 talk in his old stammer, his grey face whitened and sharp- 
 ened by illness. Always he demanded her kisses, although 
 at times she had such horror of being made love to by 
 one so ill that she was pricked by a perfect frenzy of 
 nerves. He would sit by the fire, passing his thin hands 
 across her shoulders, stooping and caressing her and 
 catching her neck with his fingers in order to bring her 
 cheek the more submissively to his own. His lips were 
 ever encroaching, and his fevered clasp was so incessant 
 and so vibrant with overstrung excitement as to create a 
 sense of repulsion. It was a tyranny, to which Sally 
 listlessly yielded because she had not the spirit to resist. 
 She also knew that resistance would make him ill again; 
 and however much she chafed at his kisses she chafed 
 still more at the constant attention demanded by Gaga's 
 state of health, which kept her ever there and delayed 
 intolerably the execution of those plans which would have 
 interposed a relief from these intimacies. Then again he 
 would be seized with fits of vomiting which shook his 
 frame and made him so ill that he had to be helped back 
 to bed and comforted as if he were a child. It was a
 
 CONSEQUENCES 267 
 
 weary time, much shorter than it appeared to be in her 
 slow watching of the clock; and she could not have en- 
 dured it at all if her resolution had been less tough. 
 Sometimes, too, Sally knew that she was rather fond of 
 Gaga. Her feeling for him was a mixture of emotion; 
 but she never actively disliked him, even when she was 
 bored by his constant show of possessiveness. The truth 
 was that she had grown to be afraid. She was like a 
 Frankenstein, and her monstrous plan had become too 
 great to be carried through alone. She was frightened 
 that Gaga would die; and she did not want him to die. 
 He was necessary to her, because at present he was the 
 key to her scheme of immediate life. 
 
 Each evening Miss Summers came; and the tale she 
 brought of orders given and executed was satisfactory. 
 But even Miss Summers knew that things were not going 
 well. All that practical direction which Madam had 
 brought to the business was lost. Everything that had 
 given distinction in the choice of material and style was 
 in danger. There were new purchases to be made, and 
 new designs furnished. All that vast part in the busi- 
 ness which occurred before a customer entered into nego- 
 tiations had been managed entirely by Madam, and it was 
 suspended in her absence. Some of this work was rou- 
 tine, and could be conducted without her; but as the 
 days passed it became evident that important matters 
 were being delayed, that they were accumulating, that 
 unless something could be done quickly to check the slide 
 the business would become mechanical and its individ- 
 uality be destroyed. Thus Sally learnt that her ambition 
 had led her to grasp at power which she could not wield. 
 If she had been able to go to work she could have learnt 
 very easily. She had such quick taste, and such confi- 
 dence, that, with Miss Summers at her side, in spite of 
 many mistakes, she could have dealt with much that was
 
 268 COQUETTE 
 
 now slipping. But she was unable to leave Gaga. When 
 she tried to explain the needs of the moment to him Gaga 
 turned weakly away, incapable of grasping more than the 
 fact that she was his wife and that he needed her. At 
 speech concerning the business he shrugged his should- 
 ers, and became stupidly ineffective. 
 
 One night, when she was in bed, Sally thought of all 
 this, and was first despondent and then dispirited. The 
 mood intensified. Once it had gripped her she knew no 
 peace. She was in helpless torment. Before she knew 
 quite what she was doing she had drawn the bedclothes 
 over her head and was bitterly sobbing. Little disjointed 
 phrases were jerked from her lips in this painful aban- 
 donment to fear and the sense of lonely powerlessness. 
 She was at last unrestrained in her admission of failure. 
 She did not know . . . she did not know. By herself 
 she could do nothing. And there was nobody to whom 
 she could turn for succour. Her mother was useless, 
 Mrs. Perce was useless. Her one support was Miss 
 Summers, and Miss Summers this evening had been un- 
 able to hide her trepidation, but had sat licking her lips 
 and blinking her eyes, which held such concern that she 
 could in no way disguise the cause of her gloom. Miss 
 Summers also, then, was full of foreboding; and Sally, 
 tied fast here, a child, thrown off her balance by illness 
 and nervous excitement, had lost confidence in her star. 
 
 When she was calm again she slept; but in the morn- 
 ing the preoccupation returned to her, and her head 
 ached, and the tears filled her eyes as though she were 
 fighting against grief. And her first visit to Gaga dis- 
 gusted her and made her feel the more miserable. She 
 had often been more poignantly affected, but never had 
 she experienced such a sense of complete distaste for life. 
 She was like a child given an impossible task to perform ; 
 and instead of being able to rise on the wings of her ar-
 
 CONSEQUENCES 269 
 
 rogance as she was in the habit of doing, Sally was 
 weighed down by leaden sickness and fear. She went 
 slowly downstairs to have her breakfast, and sat soli- 
 tary in the big brown dining-room which overlooked a 
 square of grass and a high wall. A dismal grey op- 
 pressed the atmosphere, and an autumn chill. She could 
 not eat, could only sniff despairingly and drink a cup of 
 tea and wander to the fire and lay her forehead against 
 the mantelpiece, which was cooling indeed, but without 
 comfort. Its hard coldness was unbearable. Sally's 
 arms crept up as a pillow. She stared downwards at 
 the dead fire. 
 
 "O-o-oh!" she groaned bitterly. "I wish I was dead! 
 I do wish I was dead!" And at the sound of her 
 wretched voice Sally once more gave way completely and 
 began to sob aloud. She was beaten, and her spirit 
 was gone. 
 
 xv 
 
 And so more days passed, each filled with a sort of 
 numbing dread. Sally thought of the business, of her 
 future, of Toby from whom she had received several 
 letter reflecting his moods of ferociousness and resent- 
 ment, and of the bonds which kept her tied to the house. 
 She knew during all this time no peace. She grew thin- 
 ner, and began to take less care of herself. She was not 
 aware of the beginning of a loss of self-respect, but it 
 was there. She she who had always been so strict in 
 regard to her toilette and dress, whatever her state of 
 mind went down to breakfast one morning in a kimono 
 which she had found in Madam's wardrobe and short- 
 ened for herself. It was a proof that she no longer 
 cared for her appearance. She lay through the nights 
 often only half-asleep, in a stupor which presently led 
 her to an attitude almost of indifference to the needs of
 
 270 COQUETTE 
 
 the day. And for the rest of the time Sally was so 
 lethargic that it one morning occurred to her to think 
 that she had caught from Gaga whatever was the un- 
 named illness from which he was suffering. The thought, 
 once arisen, flew to her head. It became a horror. She 
 had heard of bad fruit corrupting fruit that was sound; 
 and this was a new preoccupation for her. When Gaga 
 would have kissed her lips she turned away in sudden 
 nausea, fighting instinctively against a subjection which 
 her indifference had hitherto made allowable. And she 
 had several times to invent an excuse to be alone, so 
 active had her distress become; and in these absences 
 she would walk vehemently up and down the dining-room 
 until she was forced by exhaustion to sit or by a mes- 
 sage from Gaga to return to his room. 
 
 "Why, whatever's come to me?" she demanded. "It's 
 awful! I'm ill." 
 
 The doctor called every day to see Gaga, and spoke as 
 though there was a definite improvement in his patient's 
 health. The medicine Gaga was taking would finally give 
 him strength. Already he was beginning to eat more, 
 arid beginning also to retain what he had eaten. 
 
 "It's nerves, you know," the doctor told Sally one day. 
 "Mere nerves. Your husband's run down. He's not 
 strong. He's had a shock. As soon as he's well enough 
 he ought to be got away for a holiday. You take him 
 away. About the end of next week, if he makes good 
 progress. Take him to the sea." 
 
 "He hates it," cried Sally. "Upsets him." 
 
 "Oh." The doctor considered. "Where did you go 
 for your honeymoon ? Penterby well, that would do, if 
 you can take drives to the sea. He doesn't want too 
 bracing a place. And now, Mrs. Merrick, I've been 
 noticing you lately. You're run down, too. We can't 
 have you ill. You've been very plucky; but you've had a
 
 CONSEQUENCES 271 
 
 great strain, and all this nursing has worn you out. I'm 
 going to have a look at you . . ." 
 
 Sally was conscious of a sinking of the heart. 
 
 "I'm quite all right!" she protested. She could not 
 have told what intuition had created this panic; but her 
 heart had begun instantly to thump in her breast, and she 
 became, as she had done once before, almost dizzy. She 
 could not say anything more. She submitted to his ex- 
 amination, and answered his questions. It was an ordeal, 
 and she watched his serious face with its cold eyes, and 
 felt his chilly hand, and guessed at what he would say. 
 The doctor seemed appallingly slow, appallingly deliber- 
 ate and immovable and ruthless in his perceptions. She 
 was terrified. The room wavered before her; and her 
 fright grew greater and greater. He was very patient. 
 She felt strange trust in him ; but always the same dread, 
 which made her teeth chatter a little. Soon he had fin- 
 ished ; and then he looked at her with a slight smile and 
 a nod. 
 
 "Yes," he said, reflectively. "Oh, there's nothing to 
 be alarmed about at all. Nothing. All you've got to do 
 is to take care of yourself, and not worry; and it will 
 do you good to get away. Women in your condition, 
 especially if it's the first, often . . ." 
 
 "My condition!" exclaimed Sally. It was like a blow. 
 "Doctor!" 
 
 "Nothing to be alarmed at," he repeated. "You'll be 
 very happy after a bit. You know, you're going to have 
 a baby. He stood away from her, smiling in a friendly 
 way. 
 
 "A baby!" Sally was shaken from head to foot. She 
 stared at the doctor in an extremity of horror. "A 
 baby!" 
 
 He patted her arm. Before she was able to collect her- 
 self he had gone a busy doctor with a long round and
 
 272 COQUETTE 
 
 a large practice. Sally sat looking at the fire. Then she 
 rose. A scream came to her lips. Again and again she 
 shuddered. A baby! A baby! Toby's baby! 
 
 xvi 
 
 The news confirmed what Sally had never consciously 
 thought, but what she now felt she had known for days. 
 If anything had been needed to complete her despair it 
 was this. She felt suicidal. She could have borne ill- 
 ness, even failure in the .business, even all the compli- 
 cations of distress which she had been already exper- 
 iencing; but the knowledge of ultimate disgrace so 
 inevitable drove her mad. Vainly Sally's mind flew in 
 every direction for relief the doctor might be wrong; 
 the coming of babies could be prevented; perhaps Gaga 
 might never know she could persuade him to go away, 
 could go away herself, could do a hundred things to 
 tide over the difficulty. And at the end of all these 
 twistings of the mind she would find herself still terribly 
 in danger, and would fight against hideous screaming 
 fits by lying on the floor or on a couch and crushing her 
 handkerchief into her mouth. She was quite overcome 
 by her new disaster, the fruit of wild temptation, and 
 the consequence of her whole course of action. Used 
 as Sally was to meeting every emergency with cool 
 shrewdness, she could not bring to her present situation 
 the necessary philosophy, because she was ill, and fear- 
 stricken, and made crazy by the impossibility of finding 
 a solution to her anxieties. 
 
 Hour after hour was spent with horrible nightmarish 
 imaginings, in frenzied self-excuses and improvised ex- 
 pedients. And never did there come one moment of 
 peace in the midst of all this panic. Sally had no friend. 
 More and more she began to realise this. She had no
 
 CONSEQUENCES 273 
 
 friend. She had made use of people, they were fond of 
 her, would submit to her; but she had no friend. More 
 than anything in the world she now needed a friend. 
 There was nobody in whom she could confide, from 
 whose love and sympathy she could draw the strength 
 which at this point she so greatly needed. She had a 
 husband, a lover, a mother to none of these could she 
 go with the truth. It needed all Sally's egotism to make 
 the truth seem capable of justification, or indeed to make 
 it seem even credible, so different is the standard by which 
 we judge our own actions from that which we apply to 
 others. Sally saw everything so much in relation to all 
 that she had ever thought and felt that she could not 
 understand how her impulses might horrify one coming 
 to them only after translation into action. She only knew 
 that she could not betray herself unreservedly to any- 
 body with the hope of being found innocent. The knowl- 
 edge made her at first full of terror; and the terror and 
 the successive elaborate self -explanation, given to an 
 unresponsive silence which she could easily suppose to be 
 hostile, made her obstinate; then she became the more 
 passionately afraid. She could have stormed, lied, wrig- 
 gled ; but she could never hope to escape the consequences 
 that she dreaded. 
 
 At times Sally could not bear to be with Gaga at all. 
 She told him she was ill, and that the doctor said she 
 must go out; and in spite of his protests she would run 
 from the house and walk rapidly for an hour about Kens- 
 ington, and even into Hyde Park and Kensington Gar- 
 dens. The weather made no difference to her. She was 
 desperate, and must seek some relief from the horror of 
 being cooped up in that house with her secret. She had 
 begged the doctor to give no hint of it to Gaga, and had 
 tried to pretend to herself that he had been mistaken in 
 his diagnosis; but her pretence was of no avail, be-
 
 274 COQUETTE 
 
 cause each day she became more certain that he had 
 been right. And still she could not think of any way 
 out. She had been betrayed by a single act of irresisti- 
 ble passion. 
 
 Presently, as her frenzy spent itself, Sally began to 
 think more collectedly. She remembered Toby's last 
 letter. She began to think of him. She thought even 
 that she could run away and be divorced and abandon 
 all her schemes for the sake of the baby. But as soon 
 as Sally had such an imagining she knew that it was an 
 impossibility for her. Only as a last resource could she 
 accept her disaster. All her self-confidence fought 
 against it. She must find some other way. At first she 
 thought it would be simple to do so; but as her brain 
 worked upon the problem she found so many difficulties 
 in the way that she again lost hope. The baby would 
 ruin everything. Finally the return of Toby seemed to 
 her to be the first necessity. She must see him. She 
 could do nothing until she saw him. Longing seized her 
 a quick sense that at least he was her lover, and there- 
 fore her partner. She wrote to Toby, asking him to come 
 and meet her as soon as he reached London. Then she 
 waited, her exhausted torments having left her in a 
 mood of glittering-eyed sullen misery that might at any 
 moment rise sharply to angry shrillness. Calm hid genu- 
 ine fear, and it was the calm of one who has no hope 
 other than self-control. 
 
 Gradually Sally came to know the big house in exact 
 detail, because in these days she was forced to find occu- 
 pation for herself. The drawing-room, the dining-room, 
 all the rooms upstairs, were ransacked. They held no 
 treasures, indeed; but they gave Sally a rather distract- 
 ing interest because they aroused her sense of possession. 
 She had wanted to own things and these, although they 
 were not what she had pictured, were property. There
 
 CONSEQUENCES 275 
 
 was the beginning of bourgeoise acquisitiveness and pride 
 of ownership in her, after all. Scratch the worker and 
 you found the bourgeoise. There were carefully-hoarded 
 lengths of rich material in the cupboards, lace and rib- 
 bons and shawls in different chests of drawers; upon 
 Madam's dressing-table was a manicure set and a set of 
 tortoiseshell-backed brushes; in the drawers of the same 
 table were perfumes in great variety. Far below stairs, 
 Sally found the wine cellar, and although it was small 
 in size it contained more kinds of wine than she had 
 been able to imagine hitherto, and filled her with an al- 
 most grinning satisfaction. Not yet was her sense of 
 social ambition roused; but it was born. She began to 
 look ahead. Parties, with the wine as a feature of them, 
 were imagined. She began, in a manner, to picture what 
 she would lose by defeat. The baby would ruin all. And 
 she was helpless, because she could speak to nobody. She 
 was condemned. There would be ruin, dreadful ruin, 
 and she was glimpsing the very things which she 
 might have enjoyed. Fresh paroxysms shook Sally. 
 Somehow somehow, and by some means not as yet to 
 be discovered, she must save the situation. And Toby 
 must save her. Toby must find a way. He must do it 
 because he loved her. It was his duty. He must find a 
 way to save her. And even as she frantically said this, 
 Sally knew that she herself must control the situation. 
 Thus early in her life she had learnt that for a girl of 
 her type men, whatever her desire for any other state, 
 must always be employed under her direction. Toby 
 would obey. He might do the donkey-work ; but in fact 
 Sally must lead. It was her fate, the fate of the girl 
 with her own star to follow. 
 
 Nevertheless, it was upon Toby that the immediate 
 future depended. Not yet has woman the power to at- 
 tain her ends except by and through men. Sally waited
 
 276 COQUETTE 
 
 in ever-increasing excitement for some word from Toby, 
 some hint of his coming. She was kept within the house 
 at all times except during her short flights in the morn- 
 ing or afternoon. She could not be long away from 
 the house. And she must rely upon a letter, and then 
 perhaps a brief meeting, for her purposes. The time was 
 going. Gaga was getting better, was growing more and 
 more like the man in whose company she had gone to 
 Penterby. His demand upon her presence was increas- 
 ing in power, because he was sitting up, leaving his room, 
 coming in search of her. Sally felt that already he was 
 beginning to exercise an inquisition. A tremor shook her 
 nerves. Sometimes it seemed to her that Gaga's glance 
 held a strangeness, almost a faint suspicion. When she 
 thought that she was conscious of a feeling akin to aver- 
 sion. 
 
 Aversion had not yet arrived. Gaga was still to be 
 despised. But Sally already felt that she might presently 
 find her task of deception very hard under the constant 
 scrutiny of such futile devotedness as he displayed. And 
 Toby did not write. She had no means of knowing 
 where he was, whether the voyage upon which he was 
 engaged would be long or short, how much more time 
 must elapse before their meeting. The suspense was 
 killing her. More than once, hearing Gaga calling to her, 
 Sally had hidden from him, and, at discovery, had been 
 unable to conceal the hard coldness of her feeling for 
 him. If Toby would only come! If he would only 
 cornel She thought that her nerve must before long 
 give way, and once it had gone she would be prematurely 
 ruined. She felt trapped. She even, desperately, would 
 slip on a coat at nights and walk up and down outside 
 the house, in case Toby should be lurking near on the 
 chance of seeing her. She thought he might come thus. 
 And on each occasion when she went out of the house in
 
 CONSEQUENCES 277 
 
 this way she returned to find Gaga standing in the dining- 
 room, with the door open in such a way that he could 
 command a view of the inside of the front door. The 
 knowledge that he was waiting for her, and watching 
 her, filled Sally with cold fury. His innocent delight at 
 her return had the air of being a pretence. She could 
 not suppose his eager caresses to be other than penitence 
 for suspicion or an assertion of his claims upon her in 
 perpetuity. The distress made her unresponsive, even 
 repressive. Her foot tapped upon the floor even while 
 she could not wholly quell his convulsive nervous em- 
 brace. And Toby did not come. 
 
 At last, one evening, her guess was justified. She had 
 taken her coat, and had walked to the end of the road; 
 and just as she turned back, without hope, she saw a 
 burly figure almost opposite. It was Toby, in a sailor's 
 short thick jacket, and his neck muffled, and a cap over 
 his eyes. He was standing in the shadow, and as she 
 crossed to him allowed Sally to enter that same embrac- 
 ing darkness which safely hid them both. She gave a 
 little savage cry, and was in his strong arms, almost 
 crazed with relief and her physical sense of his so long 
 withheld nearness. She could feel herself shuddering 
 and trembling, but she was not directly conscious of this. 
 All she felt was a passionate joy at being able to abandon 
 all her nervous self-control to this firmness and clenched 
 vigour. 
 
 "Oh, Toby, Toby!" she whimpered, clutching him; and 
 then no more for several minutes. Toby did not speak. 
 He hugged Sally until she was breathless, and his hot 
 kiss made her cheek burn. She pressed her forehead 
 with all her strength against his breast, and longed that 
 in this moment she might for ever lose all knowledge 
 of the trials which, beset her. The trembling persisted
 
 278 COQUETTE 
 
 for a long time; and then, as she was comforted, it 
 began to subside. 
 
 "My girl, my girl!" muttered Toby, in a thick voice, 
 warm against her ear. 
 
 "Toby, listen . . . Toby, I'm going to have a baby 
 it's your baby. What shall I do ? Toby !" Sally clung 
 to him. "I'm so frightened, Toby." 
 
 "Baby? Christ!" As suddenly, he repulsed her. 
 "You say it's me. It's a lie! How d'you know? You 
 little liar, you. What's your game?" 
 
 "Of course it's yours," fiercely cried Sally. "I told 
 you." 
 
 "D'you think I believe that !" He was brutally incred- 
 ulous. He held her away. "Why, you dirty little liar, 
 you'd swear anything." 
 
 A ghastly anger took command of Sally. 
 
 "I told you," she steadily repeated. But she made no 
 attempt to go back to him. They stood quite apart in the 
 difficult gloom. 
 
 "I know you did. You told me you loved me. You 
 married him." 
 
 "I told you," she obstinately went on. "I told you. I 
 don't know what to do. He'll find out. He's bound to 
 find out." 
 
 "He'll think it's his," said Toby. "By God, I believe 
 it is." 
 
 "You're mad!" cried Sally. "He knows it can't be. 
 And you know it, too. I tell you I shall be found out 
 and disgraced." She was not crying. Her pride was 
 aroused. She was full of scorn for one who could dis- 
 believe what she herself knew to be true. 
 
 "Well?" Toby demanded. "What of it? Whose fault 
 is it?" He was brutally angry, and a little frightened 
 and blustering. They were still at arm's length in the 
 darkness of the deserted street. There was no lamp near
 
 CONSEQUENCES 279 
 
 them, and the houses behind were unlighted. Sally's 
 heart fell. She was almost paralysed at Toby's tone. 
 She was puzzled and chagrined and angry. And then a 
 change of mood came abruptly upon her. 
 
 "Don't you love me?" she mournfully asked. "I 
 thought you did. I love you, Toby. I thought you loved 
 me." 
 
 "I used to," came the grim reply out of the night. He 
 sounded cautious, doubtful. 
 
 "Not any longer?" She withdrew herself wholly from 
 him. They were completely sundered. Toby was failing 
 her. She was stone cold to him cold to all the world. 
 
 "Who says I don't ?" asked Toby, in a grumbling way. 
 He put out his arm, but Sally stepped back. "Here." 
 
 "No," she cried, sharply. Toby was not to take her 
 for granted, not to hold her and make love to her. She 
 was in earnest, and he was giving himself away as one 
 who had taken what he could get. 
 
 "I do." At last Toby's sullen assent reached Sally. 
 
 "You think I'm a liar," she persisted. "You don't 
 love me." It was bitter. 
 
 There was a silence. Toby was almost invisible. Both 
 were lost in the dull estrangement of that troubled mood. 
 
 "Yes, I do," he muttered. "You are a liar." 
 
 "I'm not. It's true what I say. If Gaga finds 
 out . . ." 
 
 "Well? What d'you suppose / can do? / can't do 
 anything. It's you who's got to do something." 
 
 Sally thought for a moment at that savagely bullying 
 tone, which was without love or understanding. She had 
 a sudden sweep of hatred of Toby as an animal that took 
 no heed of responsibility or consequences. The chill she 
 had felt already deepened and filled her heart. Her lone- 
 liness was intensified. She gave a short laugh of bitter
 
 280 COQUETTE 
 
 distraction. A greater fierceness shook her, and she be- 
 gan to walk slowly away from him. 
 
 "Oh, well then, I'm done," she said, with cold reck- 
 lessness. "All right." 
 
 "Sally!" He came slowly after her; but his pursuit 
 was not the old vigorous insistence for which she longed. 
 He wanted Sally not a baby, not a difficulty. He would 
 shirk anything but the fulfilment of his passion. In- 
 stantly, she felt that he never would have married her 
 if the time had come. 
 
 "No!" It was a harsh cry. "Don't touch me. Goon, 
 push off ... I'm done with you." She walked more 
 rapidly. She was only a little way now from the house, 
 a hatless, disconsolate figure, oppressed and rigid. 
 
 "Sally." But he was still slow to follow. Sally 
 cracked her fingers. She was finished with him. Her 
 heart and her feet alike were leaden. She was too far 
 gone for tears or sobs. It was not anguish that she felt ; 
 but bitterness so great that she could only hate Toby. 
 She had loved him so much! And this was the end of 
 him. She felt her love killed at a blow, and she was 
 without resource. 
 
 Suddenly strong fingers were upon Sally's shoulder. 
 In other days she would have been dominated. Not so 
 now. She wrenched herself free, and walked on. There 
 was no attempt to run. She was finished . . . finished. 
 Some further sound she heard; but it was unintelligible. 
 Toby, presented with a real problem which a man who 
 loved her would have solved, had been proved a doubt- 
 ing coward. She felt wronged, deceived. She had al- 
 ways expected violence from him, but she had always 
 expected him to know that she truly loved him, what- 
 ever her actions might seem otherwise to suggest. Reali- 
 sation of his ignorance destroyed her. Even at the gate 
 Sally might still have been won ; but as she came abreast
 
 CONSEQUENCES 281 
 
 of it she saw that the front door was open, and Gaga 
 standing upon the top step. Coldly, she shut the gate; 
 and walked resolutely up the steps. Toby was left dodg- 
 ing out of the circle of light, a pitiful conspirator. Gaga 
 was silhouetted, a long lean figure, against the light of 
 the hall. He peered down into the darkness. 
 
 "Sally, is that you?" he exclaimed. "I was quite anx- 
 ious." 
 
 "Were you?" It was listless, scornful. 
 
 As she passed him, Gaga gazed still into the darkness. 
 
 "Is that somebody with you?" he asked. "It 
 looks . . ." 
 
 Sally went into the house, and as he followed her she 
 closed the front door quietly. It was strange to come 
 from the black chilliness of the street into this new solid 
 warmth and comfort. In the hall they faced one another. 
 For once Sally was as grey as he as grey and trembling. 
 
 "I thought ... I thought it was a man," said Gaga. 
 
 "Oh, did you?" Sally slipped off her coat, and threw 
 it upon a chair. She was listening intently. 
 
 "Wasn't it?" Gaga did not touch her. He looked 
 down with a startled expression. "It looked like a man 
 out there . . . Wasn't it?" 
 
 "You'd better go out and see," advised Sally, with 
 snapping teeth. "Then you'll be sure." As a fury pos- 
 sessed her, she turned upon him like a cat at bay, all her 
 teeth showing. "Funny if you were spying on me with- 
 out any reason, wouldn't it be!" 
 
 She was so reckless that she did not measure conse- 
 quences. She was in no mood to be cautious or consid- 
 erate. Leaving him there Sally went into the dining- 
 room, and when Gaga entered upon her heels she went 
 out of the room again and slowly up the stairs.
 
 282 COQUETTE 
 
 xvii 
 
 But all the time, although she seemed to ignore him, 
 Sally with a part of her consciousness was listening and 
 watching. She dreaded to hear the groan of the gate 
 upon its rusted hinges, the noise of a knock, or the gentle 
 sound which the front door would make if Gaga accepted 
 her challenge. Her heart was almost silent as she waited, 
 and then, as the minutes passed without interruption, her 
 relaxation was half relief and half disappointment. 
 Something within her had craved this crisis which had 
 not arrived. Some sensual longing for violence was frus- 
 trate. Sally was alone with Gaga, and Gaga, humble 
 and obedient, was in her track, coming slowly and af- 
 fectionately after her. As she saw from the landing the 
 top of his dark, grey-streaked head she almost screamed 
 with fury. It was in that moment that aversion for him 
 rose in a tumult from her heart. She hated Toby, but 
 for his base cruelty alone. She hated Gaga for his in- 
 escapable possessiveness and gentle persecution. It was 
 a horror to Sally in her abnormal condition. She began 
 to run up the next flight of stairs, and tripped upon her 
 skirt. The stumble brought some little sense to her. She 
 rose, holding the balustrade. Shot through and through 
 with bitterness as she was, she yet clutched at sanity. 
 When Gaga came abreast of her Sally took his arm; 
 and they completed the journey together. 
 
 "Sorry I was beastly," she said, with a little pinch of 
 the arm. "Got the jumps." 
 
 "I know ... I know," whispered Gaga. "We'll go 
 away. We'll go very . . . very soon." 
 
 "Now?" Sally demanded. "To-morrow? Could we 
 go to-morrow?" 
 
 "Well . . . well, perhaps not . . . to-morrow. The 
 day after?" He was hesitant, and did not oppose her.
 
 CONSEQUENCES 283 
 
 Sally's lip curled. What a man! Yes . . . yes . . . 
 yes ; but the baby ! She was again desperately shaken. 
 
 "Why not to-morrow?" she cried, almost spitefully. 
 "Why hang about?" 
 
 Gaga wavered. He began to kiss her. His hands, 
 holding hers, were clammy. She had a glimpse of the 
 black space under his eyes, and the swollen yellowness 
 of the whites of his eyes, and his grey cheeks, so lined 
 and creased, and the dreadful salmon colour of his dry 
 lips. In his arms though she was, Sally shuddered vio- 
 lently, aversion recurring with such strength that she 
 could not control her repugnance. This was her hus- 
 band her husband. Her eyes were strained away from 
 him. 
 
 "You're cold," Gaga murmured. "Poor little girl . . . 
 You're . . . you're cold." 
 
 "Yes, I'm cold," agreed Sally, with a violent effort for 
 grim self -repression. "That's what's the matter with 
 me. I stayed out too long. I oughtn't to have gone out 
 this evening." She again laughed slightly, her laugh so 
 sneering that even Gaga looked up as though he had been 
 startled. 
 
 "We'll go to bed early," he said. "It's cold to-night. 
 Let's have something hot, and go to bed. We can't have 
 . . . have you falling ill. It's nursing me that's made 
 you . . . queer." 
 
 "Yes, it's all my nursing." Sally spoke in a dry voice, 
 and when he released her she went over to the fire with- 
 out heeding Gaga, and looked down at its brightness. 
 Still her ears were alert to catch some violence below; 
 and as there was none her heart sank once more. Toby 
 was gone. She had dismissed him and he had gone. 
 She was more forlornly alone than ever. If Gaga had 
 not been with her she must have sought relief in some 
 physical effort, some vehement thumping of the mantel-
 
 284 COQUETTE 
 
 piece and a burst into wild crying. The repression which 
 Sally was forced to exercise tortured her. The agony 
 she suffered was almost unbearable. Her mouth was 
 stretched in a horrible grimace, so poignant was her feel- 
 ing. 
 
 "I ... I'd like something hot," Gaga proceeded, in 
 innocence. "Some . . . some cocoa . . . or . . ." 
 
 "I'll get you some." It was with passionate exaspera- 
 tion that Sally spoke; but she was thankful to know that 
 she might leave him for a few minutes. The room 
 seemed to stifle her. She plunged to the door, walk- 
 ing past Gaga with her head averted, so that he might 
 not see her face. The stairs were cold, and she was 
 upon the ground floor in an instant. A servant, called 
 from below, came slowly to receive instructions; but 
 there was no cocoa in the house. Nothing? No coffee? 
 Nothing of the kind was available. Still thankful for 
 the opportunity of turning her mind to details, Sally hur- 
 ried upstairs again. Gaga was already half-undressed, 
 and stood in front of the fire folding his coat. His thin- 
 ness was grotesque in the bright light of the gas. 
 
 "Oh dear!" he cried. "I wanted it." 
 
 "All the shops'll be shut now," declared Sally. 
 
 Gaga thought for a moment, his face drawn. He was 
 forced to sit down upon the edge of the bed. 
 
 "I ... I used . . . used to have cocoa in my . . . 
 my study," he said. 
 
 "I'll look." Sally went down to the half-landing and 
 into the small room which Gaga had always used for 
 evening work before his marriage. It was quite tiny, 
 and there was a gas fire there, and an armchair, and 
 above the fireplace were some small shelves with a few 
 books upon them. Upon other shelves were many tins 
 and packets and bottles, most of them containing prep- 
 arations handled by the firm in which Gaga had an
 
 CONSEQUENCES 285 
 
 interest. Strange : she had not had to trouble at all about 
 that! The room was very cold, and Sally shivered as 
 she stood examining the contents of the shelves. The 
 tins and packets were all in confusion, large and small 
 jostling one another; and many had their descriptive 
 labels turned to the wall. Sally read upon some of them 
 words the meaning of which she could not understand. 
 Nearly all of them were chemicals relating to the en- 
 richment of soil or to the general improvement of farm 
 produce. Some were quite tiny, with little crystals in 
 them. Others were large, and still within wrappings. 
 She hurriedly read the lettering, darted away to the cup- 
 board, back again to the shelves, and once more to the 
 cupboard. Here there was a litter of papers also, for 
 Gaga was temperamentally fussy and untidy, and every- 
 thing he owned was in disorder. She put her hand upon 
 a cocoa-tin. It contained white pellets which looked like 
 rice. There was another tin, and this was half-full of 
 cocoa. She gave a cry of satisfaction. And then, as 
 she replaced the lid of this tin she saw another; straight 
 before her eyes; and something made her stop as if she 
 had been paralysed. Fascinated, she read: "POISON: 
 This preparation of Sheep Dip contains Arsenic." There 
 followed some particulars, of which she caught only the 
 word "grains." Poison! Sally cautiously took the tin 
 in her hand, reading again more carefully the words 
 printed upon the label. Funny thing to have in the house, 
 she thought . . . Poison. She replaced the tin upon the 
 cupboard shelf, and carried the cocoa to Gaga. 
 
 "That cocoa?" she demanded. "It's all mixed up with 
 poison and stuff. Don't want to kill you." 
 
 Gaga, by this time in bed, looked at the cocoa, and 
 proclaimed its reality. 
 
 "Yes . . . that's ... co ... cocoa," he stammered. 
 
 There was a pause of some minutes while the cocoa
 
 286 COQUETTE 
 
 was mixed; and they both drank it slowly, Sally con- 
 scious, as its warmth stole through her body, that she 
 was less extremely unhappy than she had been. She 
 felt a little better. She even kissed Gaga in wishing him 
 goodnight, and received his eager kisses in return with- 
 out flinching. At last she too went to her bed in the 
 adjoining room, and undressed and lay down in the 
 darkness. From where she lay Sally could hear Gaga 
 moving, and could see the glimmer of the light in his 
 room which would burn until the morning. And as 
 she lay there all her tragic thoughts came flooding back 
 with the intensity of a nightmare. The horrors, for a 
 short time repelled, were stronger than ever. She was 
 tensely awake. Every word exchanged between Toby 
 and herself came ringing into her head. She was aghast 
 at the stupidity, the cruel and brutal stupidity, of her 
 lover. He her lover! Love! why he didn't know what 
 love meant ! He would take everything she had to give ; 
 and when he was asked to stand by her Toby would re- 
 pudiate her claim upon him. She was filled with vicious 
 hatred at his betrayal. That was what men were ! That 
 was what they did ! Shirkers ! They were all like that, 
 except when they were ridiculous half -men like Gaga. 
 What was she to do? What could she do? Her brain 
 became very clear and active. It was working with pain- 
 ful alertness, so rapidly that she often did not reach the 
 end of one channel before she was embarked upon 
 another. Toby was hopeless. She must act by herself. 
 And what could she do? 
 
 Supposing she could do nothing? Disgrace, failure 
 . . . She was frightened. Better anything than disclos- 
 ure so ignominious. She thought of Gaga: very well, 
 there was still time. He would be better soon, and once 
 he was better she could easily persuade him that he was 
 the father of her baby. That was the simplest plan, and
 
 CONSEQUENCES 28T 
 
 one which had been so much taken for granted that she 
 had not taken it sufficiently into account as the only safe 
 course. Gaga could be deceived because he had no sus- 
 picion of all that went on in her mind, or of anything 
 that had happened in her life. He would soon be better, 
 and when once they were united he would be wholly in 
 Sally's hands. Not yet, though. He must get well. A 
 quick rush of relief came to her as a reassurance. She 
 could have laughed at her own panic. Of course Gaga 
 was the solution. He could be made to believe almost 
 anything. But supposing . . . supposing that he would 
 always be ill? Then indeed she would be better dead. 
 Dead? But how could she die? She might long for 
 death ; but death was not an oblivion that could be called 
 up at will. Sally pondered upon the possibilities. 
 
 The word "POISON" returned to her memory. 
 Quickly there followed the word "arsenic." Arsenic: 
 what did she recall? Suddenly Sally remembered that 
 evening long ago when she had found her mother read- 
 ing an account of the Seddon trial. What had Seddon 
 done? All the details came crowding to her attention. 
 He had given poison in food ... in food. And Miss 
 . . . what was her name? Same as old Perec's Bar- 
 row. Seddon had given Miss Barrow arsenic. It had 
 made her sick. Sally shuddered. She did not want to 
 be sick. She had had enough of sickness in these past 
 few weeks. To her sickness was the abomination of dis- 
 ease. 
 
 A terrible shock ran through Sally's body. She lay 
 panting, her heart seeming to throb from her temples to 
 her feet. Miss Barrow had been constantly sick through 
 taking arsenic, and they had only found it out . . . Gaga 
 . . . Sally's face grew violently hot. She could not 
 breathe. She sat feverishly up in bed, staring wildly. 
 An idea had occurred to her so monstrous that she was
 
 288 COQUETTE 
 
 stricken with a sense of guilt and self -horror such as 
 she had never known. 
 
 xviu 
 
 All that night Sally dwelt with her terrible temptation. 
 The more she shrank from it the more stealthily it 
 returned to her, like the slow fingers of an incoming tide. 
 So many circumstances gave colour to her belief that 
 the poison could be given without discovery that Sally 
 found every detail too easy to conceive. Gaga would be 
 sick again and again, would weaken, would . . . Always 
 her imagination refused to complete the story. She cov- 
 ered her face with her hands and sought frantically to 
 hide from this loathsome whisper that pressed tempta- 
 tion upon her. Ill and frightened, she lay turning into 
 every posture of defiance and weakness and irresolu- 
 tion, until the daylight was fully come; and then Gaga's 
 voice called feebly from the next room, and she must rise 
 to tend him with something of the guilt of a murderess 
 oppressing her and causing her during the whole talk to 
 keep her face turned away. 
 
 But she found in the interview strength enough for 
 the moment to baffle temptation. To know that Gaga 
 lay helpless there before her hardly moulded into recog- 
 nisable form by the clinging bedclothes was a reinforce- 
 ment to Sally's good will. His position appealed to the 
 pity she felt the pity and the contempt. He was so thin 
 and weak, so exceedingly fragile, that Sally could not de- 
 liberately have hurt him. Instead, she was bent upon his 
 salvation. 
 
 "Bertram," she said. "We must get away to-day. This 
 morning. D'you see? We must" 
 
 "O-o-oh!" groaned Gaga, in unformulated opposition. 
 
 "We must. We'll go to Penterby this morning."
 
 CONSEQUENCES 289 
 
 "But my dear !" it was a long wailing cry, like that of 
 an old woman. 
 
 "We've got to go. Got to go. I'll get everything 
 ready. You shan't have to worry about anything at all." 
 
 "Sal-ly!" Again Gaga wailed. He tried to pull her 
 down to him, gently and coaxingly. In a sort of hysteria, 
 Sally jerked herself free, looking steadily away. Her 
 mouth was open, and brooding resolve was in her eyes. 
 She was not tragic; she was in confusion, set only upon 
 a single purpose, and otherwise passively in distress. Ob- 
 stinately she repulsed him. 
 
 "It's no good talking. We must go. I'm ill, as well 
 as you. The doctor says we must both go away. At 
 once." She was so resolute that Gaga could not resist 
 her. He lay quite still, and for that reason she was 
 forced to look down at him. To Sally's surprise there was 
 upon Gaga's face an expression of such sweetness that 
 she was almost touched. He loved her. "There!" she 
 murmured, as if to a baby; and bent and kissed him. 
 Gaga kissed her several times in return and continued to 
 watch her, still with that strange expression of kind- 
 ness that was almost worship. He stirred at last. 
 
 "I'll get up," he said. "I'll get up now. It's a ... 
 it's a fine idea. We'll catch the morning train, if we 
 hurry. We'll be ... be there in time for lunch." 
 
 Sally was in such a whirl of thankfulness that she flew 
 to her dressing and packing. She and Gaga were both 
 downstairs and at breakfast within half-an-hour, seated 
 at the big dining-table, and looking very small in that 
 great room. As they sat, Gaga was so happy that he 
 repented of his promise to go away, and wanted to re- 
 main at ease in such pleasant circumstances. He began 
 to think of reasons why they should not go away at all. 
 He spoke with regret of the new flat, of their prepara- 
 tions . . . even of the business. But already Sally was
 
 290 COQUETTE 
 
 upon her feet. A few minutes later she was telephoning 
 to Miss Summers explaining the sudden change of sit- 
 uation; and then immediately began to pack. It was not 
 a difficult task. She herself had few things to take away. 
 Presently Gaga joined idly in the work; and the two of 
 them neatly folded his clothes and slipped into his 
 dressing-case the articles he was bound to need while they 
 were away. 
 
 "My medicine!" exclaimed Gaga, clutching at an ex- 
 cuse. 
 
 "Got enough for to-day ; and I've got the prescription." 
 Sally was grim. She was more she was driven by in- 
 stinct. It was essential that they should go immediately. 
 For one thing Toby might return, and any thought of 
 Toby was so horrible to her at this moment, when her 
 first hatred was giving way to uncontrollable longing for 
 him, that it was like a scourge. And for another thing 
 Sally was in terror of the nightmare temptation. She 
 was fighting against that with all the strength that re- 
 mained. Even now, if she looked at Gaga, she shuddered 
 deeply. 
 
 "What's the time ?" called Gaga. 
 
 "Miriam . . . telephone for a cab !" Sally was simul- 
 taneously giving instructions to a servant. She went to 
 a desk in which she kept money, and found that she 
 had very little remaining. "Bert, got any money? Well, 
 your cheque book?" 
 
 "In the study." 
 
 It was a fatal word, so carelessly spoken, but like a 
 blow in its sharp revival of something that was being 
 suppressed. Sally hurried to the door of her bedroom. 
 As suddenly, she stopped dead. The study! In a wave 
 all her memory of the previous night's wicked temptation 
 came back to her. It was only with a great effort that 
 she went further. More than a moment passed in a
 
 CONSEQUENCES 291 
 
 silent struggle. Almost blindly, she entered the study, 
 and its chill atmosphere was tomb-like in its effect upon 
 her. Again Sally shuddered. Groping, she found Gaga's 
 cheque book, and turned again to the door. The walls 
 of the tiny room seemed to rise forbiddingly around her, 
 to come closer, to begin to topple over as if in ruin. 
 Sally gasped for breath. She cowered. Everything be- 
 came dark ... A long time passed before she was again 
 conscious. Clasping the cheque book, Sally felt her way 
 unsteadily, with her eyes closed, until she stood upon the 
 threshold. She was breathing slowly and deeply, and 
 she could see nothing. And at last, fighting still, but 
 incapable of conquering the stronger influence which was 
 being exercised upon her will, she went back into the 
 room, and stood there with her face towards the cup- 
 board. Quietly, as if on tiptoe, she passed in a dream to 
 the cupboard and unfastened it, and without ever once 
 looking about among the other contents of the shelf put 
 her hand upon the fatal tin which she had found while 
 looking for Gaga's cocoa. With this tin in her hand 
 she hastened back to her room, closing the door as silently 
 as she had opened it. The tin was quickly laid among 
 her clothes, right in the corner of her dressing-case, 
 hidden from any prying eye. Then Sally straightened 
 herself, listened and bent down again to fasten the bag. 
 \Yithin ten minutes she and Gaga were out of the house, 
 sitting in a taxi on their way to Victoria Station. Sally 
 pressed herself back in the corner of the cab, not touching 
 Gaga, so that nobody should see her; and at the station 
 she was on fire until they were settled in the railway car- 
 riage and the train was slipping gently out from the plat- 
 form. Then at last she sighed deeply, as if with relief, 
 and the corners of her mouth drooped until she looked 
 like a little girl who was going to cry. The houses 
 became blurred.
 
 292 COQUETTE 
 
 xix 
 
 Gaga and Sally reached Penterby in a very different 
 mood and a very different state of health from that which 
 had marked their arrival on the previous visit. The sta- 
 tion, with its confusing platforms and connecting 
 bridges, was by now familiar to Sally, and she was able 
 to turn at once to a porter and give him instructions. 
 Whereas before they had walked the short distance be- 
 tween the station and the hotel they were now forced to 
 take an open, horse-drawn, cab. It stood waiting when 
 they reached the small station yard, the horse still nib- 
 bling feebly at dropped oats upon the paving and with its 
 breath blowing them farther away. The few little cot- 
 tages near the station were passed in an instant, and the 
 old-fashioned main street of Penterby, reached after a 
 short run between a hedge upon one side and a tall 
 wooden paling upon the other, was about them. Above, 
 the sky was brilliantly blue. In front the houses rose to- 
 wards the hill-top as of old. There was peace here, if 
 Sally could find it. And she could see the bridge, and 
 the ivy-covered hotel, and the gold-lettered board. She 
 sat as if crushed in her seat in the cab, staring out at 
 the hotel with an expression of strain and eagerness. 
 Beside her Gaga, tired by the journey, yawned behind his 
 long hand, his hat tilted over his eyes, and his mouth 
 always a little open. It was a strange return, and Sally 
 had ado to preserve any lightness of step and tone as she 
 jumped down from the cab and went into the hotel. As 
 before, she noticed the silence and emptiness of the small 
 bar, and the room beyond ; and as she tapped loudly Mrs. 
 Tennant came from another room. This time it was 
 Sally who took charge of everything. Gaga drooped in 
 the background, a feeble figure. But he gathered 
 strength to smile at Mrs. Tennant and to greet her.
 
 CONSEQUENCES 293 
 
 "I'm not well, Mrs. Tennant," he said. "I've come to 
 get . . . get . . . get well. My wife's ill, too. You 
 . . . you must be very kind to us." 
 
 "My !" exclaimed Mrs. Tennant, in a fat voice of con- 
 cern. Her swollen lips were parted in dismay. "But you 
 both look so bad! Of course: you can have the same 
 room you had before. Come up!" 
 
 She led the way. Sally again caught a glimpse of the 
 drawing-room carpet in its brilliant mixture of reds and 
 blues and yellows, and was immediately afterwards 
 drawn into the old dark bedroom opening upon the glass- 
 covered balcony. She stood in dismay, suddenly regret- 
 ful that they had come to be stifled there. 
 
 "Can we have some lunch?" she asked. "My hus- 
 band's . . ." 
 
 "Of course." Mrs. Tennant's geniality was benignant. 
 But in her eyes there remained that unappeasable caution 
 which Sally had previously noticed. "At once." 
 
 Sally slipped out of the room with her. They stood 
 in the narrow drab passage two black-clothed figures 
 notably contrasted in age and development. Mrs. Ten- 
 nant was so stout, and Sally so slim, that the difference 
 between them was emphasised by the similiarity of cloth- 
 ing. 
 
 "My husband's mother's dead. He was awfully fond 
 of her. He's been ill ever since, and the doctor said he'd 
 better come away." 
 
 "You're ill yourself, you know, Mrs. Merrick," ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Tennant. 
 
 "I've been nursing him a month night and day. He's 
 not strong. We'd barely got back when she died. What 
 with his illness, and the business it's been terrible!" 
 
 Sally was watching Mrs. Tennant she did not know 
 why. She felt defensive. All was the result of her own 
 position and the dreadful knowledge which she had of
 
 294 COQUETTE 
 
 her last night's temptation. She looked like a young girl, 
 but so pale and hollow-eyed that she would have aroused 
 pity in any woman of experience. 
 
 "But it's you. I know Mr. Merrick. I've often seen 
 him queer. But you're so changed. When you were 
 here before . . ." 
 
 "I know. I'm ill." 
 
 "I said to my sister how strong and bright you were. 
 We both thought you'd make a well, a new man of Mr. 
 Merrick." 
 
 "It's only his mother's dying like that. He was wor- 
 ried about her, and then she died; and he just went to 
 pieces. He had to be put to bed at once. I'll put him 
 to bed again as soon as we've had something to eat. 
 He's so weak. It's the change he wants, and the fresh 
 air." 
 
 "And you too, my dear." Mrs. Tennant seemed really 
 to be kind. 
 
 "When he's asleep I'll go for a walk. I'll soon be 
 well." Sally was reassuring; but she was made aware of 
 her own weakness by having had attention drawn to the 
 appearance of it. 
 
 They parted with smiles. Sally made as if to re-enter 
 the bedroom; but, instead, she went through the draw- 
 ing-room and on to the balcony. The river was run- 
 ning swiftly up-stream, so that the thick mud was hidden. 
 Back along its course came little floating masses of col- 
 lected material, like miniature islands in progress up and 
 down the river. Sally stood watching one of these 
 masses, until it grew indistinct as the result of her in- 
 tentness. The sun was making the houses beyond the 
 river glitter anew, and the whole town was beautified 
 in its light. A feeling of great misery seized Sally. She 
 stared down at the discoloured stream, and her eyes 
 rilled with tears. She was again consumed with a sense
 
 CONSEQUENCES 295 
 
 of loneliness; and a faint horror of the returning tide 
 caused her to break once again from her contemplation, 
 to walk back through the drawing-room, and to re- 
 join Gaga. He was sitting upon the bed, regarding with 
 a vacant expression the two dressing-cases which had 
 been brought up to the room and which stood together 
 against the wall. The room was cold and dark. Sally 
 impulsively went to the French windows opening upon 
 the balcony and drew back the curtains. 
 
 "There now," she said. "You're going to get better. 
 You can see the sun." 
 
 Gaga smiled gently. Sally came back to him and 
 stood with her hand ruffling his thin hair. She too 
 smiled, but with abstraction. She was numbed by ill- 
 ness and horror and the journey and her vision of the 
 dirty merciless water. 
 
 xx 
 
 When they had eaten their lunch, Sally helped Gaga to 
 undress and left him in bed with the curtains again closed 
 and the bedroom, thus darkened, smelling close and dank, 
 as if it were the haunt of blackbeetles. When the cur- 
 tains were drawn the whole room faded to a uniformity 
 of grey-brown, and the pictures and ornaments became 
 dim shadows, and the mirror upon the dressing-table 
 took upon itself a mysterious air, as though in its depths 
 one might read something of the hidden future. All was 
 sunk in a sorrowful gloom, and the barely-outlined re- 
 cumbent figure of Gaga might have been that of a dead 
 man. Upon tiptoe, Sally stole quietly from the room. 
 For a little while she sat alone over a fire which had been 
 lighted in the drawing-room; but the evening was be- 
 ginning to cast darkness over everything; and in the 
 west the last hot reflections of the sun were cast upon
 
 296 COQUETTE 
 
 two or three casual clouds. Sally therefore rose, and 
 took her hat and coat, which were lying near the piano. 
 As it was the middle of the week, and in autumn, the 
 hotel was almost empty, and would not be occupied with 
 any visitors for two or three more days. It was a dull 
 place once the sun had set. For a moment Sally hesi- 
 tated in putting on her hat ; but at last she ventured forth, 
 and was out in the greying street, and upon the bridge 
 across the river. The water, as she hurried by, ran 
 silently below, blackened and threatening, and as there 
 would be no moon the night was coming with great 
 darkness. Over the bridge Sally noticed the early lights 
 in the post office, and a few street lamps. One road ran 
 a little way up the hill and was immediately checked by 
 houses. Another turned off to the north-west, and it was 
 here that she would find a shop at which she could leave 
 the prescription for Gaga's medicine. Once she had per- 
 formed her task Sally walked briskly on until she came 
 to the end of the houses and into a road to the edges of 
 which trees grew and grass came irregularly running. 
 Beneath the trees darkness already obliterated all shape, 
 and the fringes of the wood were so bare of leafage 
 that she could already look up to the grey sky between 
 the boughs and their filmy branches. No vehicles passed. 
 She was alone upon this broad road, with nothing upon 
 either hand but unexplored depths of shadow and silence. 
 Every now and then a stationary light spotted the dusk. 
 She was appalled by her loneliness. 
 
 Quickly as she had walked away from Penterby, Sally 
 returned to the town with even greater speed, warmed by 
 the exercise, but chilled by her thoughts and perplexities. 
 When she was alone, and so hemmed in by sinister dark- 
 ness, Sally was brought quickly back to her forebodings. 
 She remembered the solitary figure which she had left, 
 and thought of Gaga was shrinking. Of Toby she could
 
 CONSEQUENCES 297 
 
 only find herself thinking with anger. Yet it was not 
 wholly anger, for she was also afraid and filled with long- 
 ing. Her anger was even obliterated by her love, so much 
 did she adore Toby's strength. His cruelty, his brutal in- 
 difference, were spurs to her unreasoning affection. 
 Whatever Toby might do, Sally loved him. The love 
 which she had believed herself indignantly to have cast 
 out was still paramount. Finally, in all her fleeting con- 
 siderations of the moment and the future, she could not 
 ignore the baby which was coming. She had no thought 
 of it other than fear and loathing. Not yet had desire for 
 a child created in her mind a new longing. If she could 
 have killed it she would have done so; and she was pre- 
 vented from contemplating this possibility only by the 
 ignorance which inexperience and friendlessness imposed 
 upon her. Sally was awed and terrified by the gloom 
 which gathered in her heart and about her. She sped on- 
 wards until she reached the bridge, and here for several 
 minutes she uncontrollably paused. All was now black, 
 and the tide had turned. Already the water was flowing 
 to the sea, and she could imagine the coagulated masses 
 vaguely swirling beneath her, borne unresisting upon the 
 outgoing tide. The hotel was in darkness, excepting for 
 the room beneath the balcony where the walls descended 
 straight to the water and the mud. Here there was a 
 dim light. All above was sombre until she reached in 
 her steady upward glance the sky's faint background and 
 saw its unfathomable arch of grey. 
 
 The bar of the hotel was empty. Unperceived, Sally 
 went upstairs and into the bedroom where Gaga lay. She 
 closed the door behind her and switched on the electric 
 light. To her surprise Gaga was lying on his side, and 
 his face was turned towards her. 
 
 "You awake?" she whispered. At his soft sound of 
 greeting she went forward and sat upon the bed. "It's
 
 298 COQUETTE 
 
 half-past-four," Sally continued. "Like some tea? 
 Going to get up again?" 
 
 "I ... I'm so tired," murmured Gaga. He had taken 
 her hand, and held it to his cheek, so that Sally had to 
 lean forward. In this mood he was so like a child that 
 Sally's heart softened. She found him pathetic, and her 
 own strength was emphasised by his weakness. 
 
 "Better stay in bed," she said. 
 
 "But you? Aren't you . . . aren't you lonely?" 
 
 "Mm. Nobody here. Nothing to do. I been for a 
 walk and got frightened." 
 
 "I'll get up. Yes, I will. After tea we'll walk along 
 that av . . . avenue. In the moonlight. Like your 
 song." 
 
 "There's no moon up yet," Sally told him, not moving. 
 "You stay where you are. Stay nice and warm in bed. 
 I shall be all right. I'll go for a walk along the ave- 
 nue by myself." 
 
 "And be f ... frightened again." 
 
 "Shan't wait to be frightened," Sally said. "See me 
 dart back !" 
 
 Gaga fondled her hand and reached for the other one, 
 which she patiently yielded. 
 
 "You . . . you're so nice," he murmured. "So good 
 to me." 
 
 "I? Good?" Sally's shoulders were hoisted. She al- 
 most withdrew her hands. 
 
 "Yes. But Sally ... I ..." He was overcome, 
 and could not proceed. Tears had started to his eyes. 
 "I haven't been sleeping. I've been thinking. Last 
 night . . ." 
 
 "Last night!" Sally convulsively jerked her hands 
 away, and as quickly restored them. 
 
 "You thought I'd ... I'd ... been . . . been spy- 
 ing."
 
 CONSEQUENCES 299 
 
 "Of course you weren't. I was ill. I was a beast." 
 
 "Sally, I never did. You . . . you have a lot ... 
 I've been thinking ... a lot to put up with. Marrying 
 a ... a sick man; and you . . ." 
 
 Sally could not bear him to talk thus. She freed her- 
 self, and rose. 
 
 "Here's a lot of talk !" she protested. "You get well, 
 old son. Then we'll see." 
 
 Gaga did not say anything for a moment. At last he 
 spoke again. 
 
 "Sally, would you . . . would you mind very much 
 if I did ... didn't get well?" he asked. 
 
 "Course I should!" But Sally was filled with alarm 
 at this conversation. She turned upon Gaga, but she 
 could not meet his soft eyes. "Here, you're talking 
 silly!" 
 
 "Sally ... I ... I wasn't spying," said Gaga, slow- 
 ly. "But I ... I did see a man at the gate last night." 
 
 Sally clutched the back of a chair. For a moment she 
 thought she must be going to faint. Then, with a tre- 
 mendous effort, she controlled herself. 
 
 "What d'you mean?" she demanded. 
 
 "Behind you. With you." 
 
 "Never!" 
 
 Gaga continued to regard her. His smile was no longer 
 visible. She only noticed that he was paler, that his 
 nostrils were pinched and his eyes dark. 
 
 "I wish you'd tell me the truth," he said. 
 
 "I tell you there was nobody with me," lied Sally. "No- 
 body. There may have been a man behind me. I did get 
 a bit of a start. Somebody came out of a gate. I didn't 
 notice." 
 
 "Sally ... I ... I heard him call you 'Sally.' " 
 
 She was stricken with terror at his quietness.
 
 800 COQUETTE 
 
 "Nobody called me Sally!" she cried. "I don't know 
 anybody." 
 
 Gaga sighed, and his head fell sideways, so that he no 
 longer looked at her. They spoke no more. She believed 
 that he knew she had been lying ; but she had been caught 
 unawares, and could not retract her assertions. Without 
 a further word she began to prepare a basin of water, 
 and washed herself. Then she went to ask that tea might 
 be brought to the bedroom. They drank the tea in silence, 
 both very grave. When they had finished, Sally took 
 the tray to the end of the passage, where there was a pro- 
 jecting ledge, and then returned to the room. 
 
 "Shall I go and sing to you?" she asked. 
 
 "Not . . . not now. Go for your wa . . . walk. I 
 shan't have any dinner. I'll just have a cup of cocoa." 
 
 Cocoa! Sally was transfixed. 
 
 "Oh, not cocoal" she cried. "Not cocoal" It was a 
 desperate appeal. It came from the depths of her heart. 
 She had been alarmed at his speech. She had been afraid 
 of what he might do. But more than all she was afraid 
 of the horrible voice that had followed fear with its imag- 
 inings of the means to her own salvation. At his further 
 silence, she went quickly out of the room and out of the 
 hotel. She walked at a rapid pace along the avenue, where 
 others also were walking, as it was a favourite prome- 
 nade; and she found herself shaking with emotion as the 
 result of the disclosure which Gaga had made. He knew. 
 He knew. What did he know ? And what would he do ? 
 Sally laughed hysterically. Oh, let him do it soonl It 
 was suspense that she could not bear. It was the ghastly 
 sense of muddle and falsehood that was oppressing her 
 now. Death punishment these were things of indif- 
 ference. It was the fear of either that made her torture. 
 To know the worst, to face it, to suffer for all she had 
 done that was wrong, would satisfy her. But to be kept
 
 CONSEQUENCES 301 
 
 in this horrible suspense much longer would send her mad. 
 Why had she not told Gaga the truth ? She began hyster- 
 ically to condemn herself. She should have told him the 
 truth. She should have said that Toby was an old lover, 
 jealous, angry, threatening. Now she could not tell any 
 such tale, because she had denied that a man had used her 
 name. To confess would make him disbelieve anything 
 she ever said. Sally shrugged. He did not believe her 
 now. He would never believe her. Once he was well he 
 would find out everything. He would suspect her. He 
 would persecute her with suspicions. He would suspect 
 that she was going to have a baby. He would suspect 
 ... he would know . . . 
 
 Creeping, creeping into Sally's mind came temptation. 
 She walked more swiftly until she reached a part of the 
 road which bordered the river. The water was less muddy 
 here. The river looked in this aspect like a big pool of 
 liquid lead. It was less sinister. It carried to her heart 
 no sense of horror. She turned and began to walk back, 
 meeting every now and then a couple of pedestrians, or 
 little knots of people, or solitary individuals like herself, 
 who strolled to and fro along the broad avenue. But it 
 was very dark, and she could not well see the faces of 
 those who passed, except when they were in the neigh- 
 bourhood of a light. She did not recognise anybody ; and 
 when she came once more to the bridge she did not tarry, 
 but walked straight across it. Upon the face of the river 
 were reflected the lights of the hotel, for the balcony was 
 now faintly illumined, and she could see that the curtains 
 had been drawn at the corner windows, although not else- 
 where. Again unperceived, she made her way upstairs 
 and into the drawing-room, where she removed her coat 
 and hat and seated herself at the piano.
 
 302 COQUETTE 
 
 xxi 
 
 But Sally did not stay at the piano. She was restless 
 and apprehensive. She did not dare to strike a note, in 
 c^.se Gaga should be asleep. And she could not go into 
 the bedroom. She tried to do so, but she so shrank from 
 meeting Gaga after their talk that every impulse held 
 her faltering here. Instead, Sally went through the door 
 which led from the drawing-room to the balcony. Only 
 one light was burning, at the farther end, and this cast 
 such a tiny ray that it threw up the shadows of no more 
 than a single enamelled iron table and wicker chair. For 
 the rest, everything was in a monotonous grey twilight, 
 bereft of all incidental colourings and of all significance. 
 The electric bulb was grimed with age and the action of 
 the air, and the light was quite yellow, as that from an 
 oil lamp would have been. The matting with which the 
 floor of the balcony was covered was in shadow. Through 
 the windows Sally could see only a blackness in which 
 the water and the opposite bank and the buildings farther 
 away were all obscured. She went towards the light, and 
 sat here in an armchair, staring straight before her, and 
 thinking the one word . . . poison . . . poison . . . 
 poison. 
 
 She must have been sitting upon the balcony for sev- 
 eral minutes in this state approaching stupor, when she 
 heard a faint sound. It \vas like the brushing of leaves 
 against a passing body. Her heart quickened, and she 
 looked quickly towards the darker end of the balcony, 
 near the door leading to the drawing-room. She could 
 see nothing at all, but her nerves did not relax their tense- 
 ness. She could see nothing ; but she felt that something 
 somebody was there, watching her. Somebody whom 
 could it be? Sally knew how deserted the bar was, how 
 easy it would be for a man to slip up the stairs without
 
 CONSEQUENCES 303 
 
 being seen. She was defenceless. If she had been well, 
 she would have gone straight along the balcony, to dis- 
 cover the cause of her alarm; but she was ill, and she 
 shrank back in her chair, watching the pulsing dimness. 
 
 Sally knew that there were only two people who could 
 wish her harm Gaga and Toby. If Gaga had gone out 
 of his bedroom by the inner door he might have come 
 round through the drawing-room, and might be standing 
 there in the darkness. He might have gone away again. 
 He might have found the poison. In a passion of fear, 
 she rose. If it was Gaga, she would soon confront him. 
 She would satisfy herself of his presence in the bedroom. 
 She took two steps, and then stopped, her heart frantically 
 beating. There was somebody there. 
 
 "Sally," came a sharp whisper. "Sally. Don't be 
 afraid." 
 
 It was Toby, hidden still from sight, but waiting there 
 at the dark end of the balcony. 
 
 xxii 
 
 Sally's eyes flew instantly to the window of the bed- 
 room. All there was dark. She could not tell if the blinds 
 were drawn or not. She no longer dreaded Toby : she too 
 violently desired to see him, to be in his arms and saved 
 from her nightmare thoughts by a moment's oblivion. 
 
 "Hush!" she whispered, and went silently along the 
 balcony. "What d'you want?" 
 
 "I want you." Toby's voice came hissing into her ear, 
 and she saw him at last. He was standing, a burly fig- 
 ure, in the shadow of a screen, and remained quite still, 
 hidden. 
 
 "What did you come for? How did you get here?" 
 
 "Went to your house. Frightened 'em." Toby laughed
 
 304 COQUETTE 
 
 grimly. "Thought you'd got away, didn't you? Well, 
 here I am." His tone became suddenly ferocious. "See?" 
 
 "You can't ... we can't talk. My husband's there 
 in that room. He'll hear. He saw you last night." 
 
 "I got to see you," Toby whispered, obstinately. "See? 
 I mean to say, I got to know what you're going to do." 
 
 Sally gave a contemptuous laugh. So he had followed 
 her for that! 
 
 "Well, I'm well rid of you" she answered. "I see 
 what you are." 
 
 "Oh, you do, do you . . ." said Toby. He gripped 
 her arm. "Not so much of that, Sal. D'you see? I 
 won't have it. You belong to me." 
 
 "I don't!" But Sally was only waiting for his fierce 
 embrace, and longing for it. "I don't like you. I don't 
 want you. I've had enough. You let me down." 
 
 Toby started. His voice became thick with anger. 
 
 "My Christ ! Who let anybody down ? What did you 
 do to me? Eh? You married this chap. You did it 
 for yourself. Let you down, do I? Oh, I'm a good mind 
 to kill you, Sal." 
 
 Sally shivered. She knew he might do it. He could do 
 it. It was his nature. But she answered him defiantly, 
 sneeringly. 
 
 "Yes, if you want to be hung for it." 
 
 Toby was holding her so that her arms were being 
 bruised. He pulled her towards him, and kissed her 
 again and again. He was crushing her. 
 
 "See?" he said. "That's how you belong to me." 
 
 "Well, what about it?" panted Sally. "Let me go. ... 
 Just because you're strong." 
 
 "You're coming off with me. See ? Now." 
 
 "I'm not." She was equally determined. 
 
 "Now. Can you get your hat?" 
 
 "I'm not," repeated Sally.
 
 CONSEQUENCES 305 
 
 Toby swung her off her feet with one arm. 
 
 "See?" he announced again. "That's what." 
 
 "Go on, that's all you can do," answered Sally, savage- 
 ly. "You clear off. I've had enough of it." She dived 
 suddenly, and escaped from him. She was a few steps 
 away, and Toby was in pursuit. As he followed, he kicked 
 against one of the little iron tables, which he had not 
 seen in the half-light, and sent it crashing to the floor. 
 Amid their silence it made a hideous noise. Sally drew 
 herself upright, terrified into rigidity. This was the fin- 
 ish the finish. It was all over now. She was beaten. 
 She . . . And as she stared she saw that the French 
 window of the bedroom was open had been open, per- 
 haps, all the time, and that Gaga was standing there, 
 as if he had overheard all that they had said. 
 
 "Sally!" he cried in a sharp voice of alarm. "Oh, my 
 God! Oh, my God\" 
 
 Gaga came leaping out upon the balcony as Toby stum- 
 bled on towards Sally. The two men were sharply in 
 conflict, and Gaga's arm was raised. She could see it 
 even in the shadow the raised arm, and the impact of 
 the two bodies. Gaga was in his sleeping-suit, spectral 
 in his gauntness and his pallor. Maddened, Toby swept 
 his enemy aside with one violent blow that would have 
 killed the strongest man. Gaga went down, his head and 
 body thrown with great force against the brick wall of the 
 hotel, and sliding to the ground with such momentum that 
 there was a further concussion. 
 
 "Toby '."shrieked Sally. "Toby! You've killed him !" 
 
 Gaga lay in the shadow, quite motionless, a horrible 
 twisted body without life. And the two others stood 
 panting in the twilight, staring down at his ghastly up- 
 turned face. Toby was as if paralysed by the sight, his 
 hand sleepily raised to his brow. 
 
 A voice sounded from downstairs.
 
 306 COQUETTE 
 
 "Did you call, Mrs. Merrick?" And then ascending 
 steps followed. 
 
 Sally made a frantic gesture. 
 
 "Get out !" she cried. "Quick. They're coming. They'll 
 find you. He's dead. Get out !" She waved to the win- 
 dows. 
 
 With one glance round, and with fear at his heels, Toby 
 ran to the side of the balcony, pulled aside one of the win- 
 dows, and climbed out into the darkness. Sally saw him 
 no more. She was only aware that something terrible 
 happened, and that he missed his footing and plunged 
 downwards towards the running water and the sickening 
 mud. Then, as she convulsively jerked the window close 
 again, she was overcome with deadly faintness, and her- 
 self fell upon the matting, striking her head as she fell, 
 and losing consciousness. 
 
 THE END
 
 Date Due 
 
 ram 
 
 BECD 
 
 24 1976 
 
 PRINTED IN U.S.A. 
 
 CAT. NO. 24 161
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A 000823138 3