at all. Toby jerked towards her, so that his head restedagainst her side, and Sally mechanically crooked her arm lightly overhis further cheek. Toby blinked a little, and yawned, and looked at thesunshine. "Wha's time?" he gaped. "Oh-o-oo."
"Dunno. Oo, bless me!" Sally roused herself. "I mustn't be late." Shereached out for Toby's watch, on the table at his side of the bed, andheld it up to the light. The time was half-past-seven. She looked at theold watch, a cheap one with a loud tick. "I'll give you a _watch_, oneday," she said, condescendingly. "A _watch_."
"Here!" Toby's voice changed. He caught her wrist sharply--so sharplythat Sally almost dropped the watch on the quilt. "What's that?" Histone was so strange that she was surprised, and tried to follow hisglance. It rested upon her hand--upon the wedding ring. Sally's bloodfroze.
"Oh, that?" she said, with an attempt to be easy. "Can't come into aplace 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'tit?"
"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 upbeside her, his face deeply crimsoned, his expression accusing. "Used toit, are you?"
"No!" answered Sally.
"What did you get it for?"
Sally could not hide her trembling. She was blanched, and her shoulderwas raised as if to avoid a blow. It came. Toby released her wrist, andseized her shoulder. Roughly, he so shoved her away from him that shewas thrown upon her face. She scrambled out of bed, and stood pantingbefore him, while Toby, kicking down the bedclothes, seemed crouchedupon the bed as if he might murderously spring at her. She watched hishands, 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. Shecould not escape. Toby held her shoulder again. Again he savagely pushedher, so that she fell against the wall, her head striking it. Sally slidto the floor, shrinking from him, terrified now that death seemed sonear. She did not scream. She could still have done so; but it was nother instinct to cry out. "You liar!" Toby said again. "What did you getit for? Christ!" He dragged Sally once again to her feet. His fingerswere bruising her arm. She was physically helpless and half-stunned. "Isthat 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 shechecked a sob that would have plunged her into hysteria. "I'm married!"
Toby fell away, his mouth open. The release sent Sally against the wallonce more. He stood looking at her, his face grey, his eyes smouldering.
"You tell me _that_?" he said. "Married!"
"Yes. Married."
He did not speak. He eyed her with a sombre and threateningappraisement. Then, more quietly, he went on:
"You _can't_ be. You're mine. You belong to _me_. Nobody else can't haveyou!"
"Nobody else can have me. But I'm married, all right," Sally told him.She was recovering some composure. When she moistened her lips sheglanced sideways at him, like lightning. Toby had not struck her. He wastoo surprised.
"Married.... And you come here with me. Liar!"
"My husband's away.... We don't.... His mother's ill. I don't lovehim--never did. We were only married a few days ago. I wrote to you. Younever got the letter."
"Oh, _that's_ why...." Toby's tone was vengeful. His fists wereclenched.
"See, Toby, I only love you. Only you. But he's rich. We.... I don'tsleep 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 spinningacross 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 wasreturning 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 wasdetermined to kill her nothing would stop him. She was filled withabject fear at her own physical powerlessness. But by now her wits werealert again. Toby made a movement, and Sally started, ready to dartaway. He did not come nearer. A stupidity seemed to descend upon him.
A loud rap at the door startled them both.
"Hot water. Half-past seven. And less noise there!" came a loud voice.The whole scene was transformed by the interruption. Both becamelistless.
"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, Sallyapproached him. At last, standing by his side, she held Toby's head toher breast, kissing him with little fierce kisses that must have carriedtheir message to his heart. At last Toby's arms were raised, and aroundher, and she was pressed to him once more. Their lips met. Toby made amuffled, snarling sound that was a mixture of love and hatred andmasterfulness. He held her with ferocity. Then, as suddenly, his musclesrelaxed, until Sally by repeated endearments baffled his indignation andsoftened his anger. She was struggling with all her might to keeppossession of him, moving each instant with more assurance among hisdull thoughts and his easily-roused passions. As the moments passed sheknew that she had kept him, and at this knowledge her own passion roseuntil 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 shewas a victor. She was almost too satisfied. She had no shame, nocontrition; she merely knew that if she might still keep Toby hermarriage with Gaga would be bearable. She had none of the turmoil of theconventional married woman who takes a lover; but then she had neverbeen trained to be scrupulous. She was still young enough to beintoxicated by her own prowess. She could manage Gaga; she could manageToby; she could manage the business--there was no end to her power. Morethan anything else, it was necessity to her to gratify her sense ofpower. If that necessity had been removed she would have known herselffor a reckless fool; but the demand for power obliterated everyinconvenient thought of risk. As for a sense of honour, Sally had beenborn without one.
All the girls looked at her "very old-fashioned," as they would havesaid, when she arrived in the morning; but as the day wore on, and therewas no further telephone message for her from Gaga, they began to forgetwhat had happened on the previous day. Sally worked like a mouse, herbrain exulting in its vivid memories of her time with Toby; and she didnot think of Gaga at all. She only hoped that he would not come to theoffice. She was feeling too tired to deal effectively with anypeevishness from Gaga; although, the causes of her hysteria having beenremoved, she was not likely to repeat the failure of that other restlessnight. A heaviness hung upon her as the day wore on; a kind of thickreadiness for sleep. She yawned over her work. The workroom seemedstuffy, the day unusually long. The nervous strain of the past few dayswas reacting, and even Sally's vitality was shaken by the consequencesof her successive excitements. When tea-time came she was relieved. Butthere had been no news of Gaga, or from him: not even a message throughMiss Summers. Miss Summers grew more and more fidgetty and anxious asthe hours went by.
"I do hope nothing's happened," she clucked. "So funny not having heard.I wonder if I ought to telephone to ask. Perhaps Mr. Bertram's ill. Didyou _see_ him last night? D'you think I ought to ring up? I'm soworried. It's so strange, and Madam being so ill, and that."
"I shouldn't worry," urged Sally. "He'll 'phone fast enough if there'sanything to say. Look at yesterday."
"Yes; but perhaps he's ill himself."
"Sick," commente
d 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 Summers was called to thetelephone. She was away for two or three minutes; and returned withtears streaming down her cheeks. All their pink plumpness was softenedinto a blur of tearful weakness. She was bent and