It seemed to Ginger that in the silence which followed, brooding overthe room like a living presence, even the noises in the street hadceased, as though what he had said had been a spell cutting Sallyand himself off from the outer world. Only the little clock on themantelpiece ticked--ticked--ticked, like a heart beating fast.
He stared straight before him, conscious of a strange rigidity. He feltincapable of movement, as he had sometimes felt in nightmares; and notfor all the wealth of America could he have raised his eyes just then toSally's face. He could see her hands. They had tightened on the arm ofthe chair. The knuckles were white.
He was blaming himself bitterly now for his oafish clumsiness inblurting out the news so abruptly. And yet, curiously, in his remorsethere was something of elation. Never before had he felt so near to her.It was as though a barrier that had been between them had fallen.
Something moved... It was Sally's hand, slowly relaxing. The fingersloosened their grip, tightened again, then, as if reluctantly relaxedonce more. The blood flowed back.
"Your cigarette's out."
Ginger started violently. Her voice, coming suddenly out of the silence,had struck him like a blow.
"Oh, thanks!"
He forced himself to light another match. It sputtered noisily in thestillness. He blew it out, and the uncanny quiet fell again.
Ginger drew at his cigarette mechanically. For an instant he had seenSally's face, white-cheeked and bright-eyed, the chin tilted like a flagflying over a stricken field. His mood changed. All his emotions hadcrystallized into a dull, futile rage, a helpless fury directed at a mana thousand miles away.
Sally spoke again. Her voice sounded small and far off, an odd flatnessin it.
"Married?"
Ginger threw his cigarette out of the window. He was shocked to findthat he was smoking. Nothing could have been farther from his intentionthan to smoke. He nodded.
"Whom has he married?"
Ginger coughed. Something was sticking in his throat, and speech wasdifficult.
"A girl called Doland."
"Oh, Elsa Doland?"
"Yes."
"Elsa Doland." Sally drummed with her fingers on the arm of the chair."Oh, Elsa Doland?"
There was silence again. The little clock ticked fussily on themantelpiece. Out in the street automobile horns were blowing. Fromsomewhere in the distance came faintly the rumble of an elevated train.Familiar sounds, but they came to Sally now with a curious, unreal senseof novelty. She felt as though she had been projected into another worldwhere everything was new and strange and horrible--everything exceptGinger. About him, in the mere sight of him, there was something knownand heartening.
Suddenly, she became aware that she was feeling that Ginger was behavingextremely well. She seemed to have been taken out of herself and to beregarding the scene from outside, regarding it coolly and critically;and it was plain to her that Ginger, in this upheaval of all things, wasbearing himself perfectly. He had attempted no banal words of sympathy.He had said nothing and he was not looking at her. And Sally felt thatsympathy just now would be torture, and that she could not have borne tobe looked at.
Ginger was wonderful. In that curious, detached spirit that had comeupon her, she examined him impartially, and gratitude welled up from thevery depths of her. There he sat, saying nothing and doing nothing, asif he knew that all she needed, the only thing that could keep her sanein this world of nightmare, was the sight of that dear, flaming headof his that made her feel that the world had not slipped away from heraltogether.
Ginger did not move. The room had grown almost dark now. A spear oflight from a street lamp shone in through the window.
Sally got up abruptly. Slowly, gradually, inch by inch, the greatsuffocating cloud which had been crushing her had lifted. She felt aliveagain. Her black hour had gone, and she was back in the world ofliving things once more. She was afire with a fierce, tearing pain thattormented her almost beyond endurance, but dimly she sensed the factthat she had passed through something that was worse than pain, and,with Ginger's stolid presence to aid her, had passed triumphantly.
"Go and have dinner, Ginger," she said. "You must be starving."
Ginger came to life like a courtier in the palace of the SleepingBeauty. He shook himself, and rose stiffly from his chair.
"Oh, no," he said. "Not a bit, really."
Sally switched on the light and set him blinking. She could bear to belooked at now.
"Go and dine," she said. "Dine lavishly and luxuriously. You'vecertainly earned..." Her voice faltered for a moment. She held out herhand. "Ginger," she said shakily, "I... Ginger, you're a pal."
When he had gone. Sally sat down and began to cry. Then she dried hereyes in a business-like manner.
"There, Miss Nicholas!" she said. "You couldn't have done that an hourago... We will now boil you an egg for your dinner and see how thatsuits you!"
CHAPTER XI. SALLY RUNS AWAY