Coquette

was sniffling with a cold, the others werelistless 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 withonly half her ordinary attentiveness, broke her cotton, snapped aneedle, fidgetted. Her eyelids were hot, and she felt a headache beginto throb faintly in promise of greater effort later in the day. She wasrestless and wretched, looking at the door which probably hid Gaga. Eventhe memory of last night's kisses was stale and unsatisfactory. As shedrew her breath in a half-sob, Sally longed suddenly for Toby. Shelonged for his strong arms, his possessive air, his muscular strength.And as she thought of Toby a tear came to her eye, and she felt thatlife was not worth living. A consciousness of childish need for supportdestroyed all her confidence at a blow. How she hated all these stupidgirls! How she longed for something--she could not imagine what--whichshould take her out of their company. Complaint filled her mind. Whyshould she have to work, to go backwards and forwards between theworkroom and that miserable home where her mother stewed incessantly andfollowed the course of her monotonous days? It was a mood of purereaction, but it made Sally desperate. Her head began to ache morenoticeably. 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, orslacked and glanced around them. Outside, the rain began to fall, andthe sky was grey with cloud. The lights had to be switched on, and theycast a deceptive glow upon all work, and idiotic shadows of the movingfingers of the girls. Miss Summers glowered and rubbed the tip of hernose; and at each crack or rustle of a chair or a piece of material sheglanced sharply up, as though she were fighting with an impulse toscream. Sally felt that if Miss Summers had screamed they would allhave screamed. She herself was tempted to scream first, so as to seewhat would happen. She thought that all work would be instantly throwndown, and that everybody would answer her cry, and then begin noisily tosob. Even miserable as she was, the thought of this avalanche offeminine excitability made Sally snuffle with amusement. She picturedGaga running out of his room, distraught, looking yellow and bilious,his eyes staring wildly out of his head, as do the eyes of prawns. Andthen? And then Rose Anstey would fall bellowing into his arms, and Sallywould tear her away, and claim Gaga before them all....

  How astounded he would be! But anything would be better than thiswretched suppressed exasperation which was making the atmosphere of theworkroom unbearable. 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 doit 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 objectat which to discharge their suppressed venom. They would have liked tobeat her. Savagery shone in their malignant eyes. All became sadistic intheir enjoyment of the weeping girl as she crept back to her place. OnlyMiss 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 thelong dreadful sobs that shook her body. Upon every face Sally read thesame message; the curled lips, the pinched nostrils, all indicated thegeneral strain.

  "We're all like that this morning, Miss Summers," she said, almost withdefiance. "It's the weather. That's what it is."

  The other girls all turned from Nancy and transferred to Sally theirmounting malevolence. They would have liked to see her swept from herplace. They could have scratched and bitten her with fury. And yet, amoment or two after she had spoken, there was a perceptible relief.Nancy stole out of the room, to finish her cry and bathe her face, andone of the girls--her friend--went after her. There was a pause in work.A window was opened, and some air lightened the oppression. Sallyremained seated, while the others crowded to the window, and slowlyrecovered her own composure. And then, in five minutes, when everybodyresumed, it was found that things were not so bad after all, and Nancy'swork was rectified, and Rose Anstey blew her nose and lookeddisagreeable, and some of them talked; so that presently all became moreanimated, and the sky lightened, and the day was less trying. OnlySally's head continued to ache, and her spirits to falter. But she nolonger sighed for Toby. A curious dread of him came into herconsciousness, which she could not understand. She was afraid. She feltdefensive towards him, and explanatory. Under her attention all sorts ofimpulses were at work. Pictures of Toby in different circumstances beganto flash into her mind, always blurring in an instant; while the memoryof her dinner with Gaga grew stronger and more remarkable. Not knowingwhat she was doing, Sally pushed her work away, and sat in a brownstudy, until she became aware that she was under observation.

  Sally met these cruel stares with immediately assumed equanimity, andshe once more drew the work towards her; and in a few moments the girlsforgot Sally, and chattered a little together. And by the time theirattention was withdrawn wholly it was the luncheon interval which meantmore to all of them than usual, since it once more gave the girls anopportunity for standing up and moving about. They grouped, and wentslowly towards the room where they always ate; and Sally was able toopen the other door for an instant, only to discover that Madam's roomwas empty. With a sinking heart she followed the others, again beset bya loss of confidence.

  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 dayfeeling ill. As it was she came back just as they were making tea, andher 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 betweentwo dogs, and how a man had been overthrown in the mud through trying topart the dogs; and when Muriel laughed Sally laughed also, which madethe other girls prick up their ears and grow more lively. There was agreat change in the general atmosphere after tea. The constraintdisappeared, and everybody became more normal. Needles were moreadroitly used; the light improved; a general air of contentment arose.Sally no longer thought of Toby, or of Gaga. She was making a dream forherself, out of a motor car she had seen, and a handsome soldier, andthe way a commissionaire had stepped out of her way. She needed fewmaterials for her dream, and was a fine lady for the rest of theafternoon.

  Dreaming, however, has its penalties; and for this occasion Sally waspunished by having to stay rather late in order to finish what she wasdoing. The other girls began to go home; but Sally and Miss Summersremained at their tasks. The delay produced a strange experience forSally, because when they were alone together Miss Summers beganabruptly to talk. She hummed a little at first, and then broke into along 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'sa funny girl. She's in love, you know; and thinks of nothing but thisman. And he's a married man, too, and not a good man, Sally. He'd thinknothing of leading a girl like Nancy into doing wrong, and leaving herto get on as well as she can. Well, that's not right, Sally." MissSummers felt for her handkerchief, and Sally noticed with astonishmentthat there were tears in her eyes. "You see, when a man's married heought to be careful what he does. Now once, when I was a girl, I'd gotmy 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 gota poor wretched wife that he neglected, and he drank, and when he ranaway 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 wasafraid to go--though I didn't know about his wife. He said he'd marry mewhen we got away. Well, I thought it was funny. I said, 'Why notbefore?' and he said, 'You don't understand. What if we didn't suit eachother?' I said, 'Why shouldn't we? Other people get married.' And allthat sort of thing I said. Well, I wanted to go, and wanted to go; andat last I didn't, and I was thankful afterwards. Now Nancy's man is ashopwa
lker somewhere. He's got no money, but he's good-looking, youknow, and girls think a lot of that when they're young; and also he'sone of those men who give a girl the idea that he can have twenty othersif he wants them. That's what upsets a girl. She thinks she's got tomake her mind up in a hurry, or lose him, d'you see?"

  "More fool she," remarked Sally. "Pooh!"

  "So _I_ say. Mind, in Nancy's case, she's just in love. He may not wanther. She doesn't know. And it's the uncertainty that keeps her likethis. Far better if she married some steady young fellow who'd make hera good husband. But girls don't think of that. They don't like steadyfellows, any more than young fellows like