Coquette

difference to her. She was desperate, and must seek some relieffrom the horror of being cooped up in that house with her secret. Shehad begged the doctor to give no hint of it to Gaga, and had tried topretend to herself that he had been mistaken in his diagnosis; but herpretence was of no avail, because each day she became more certain thathe had been right. And still she could not think of any way out. She hadbeen betrayed by a single act of irresistible passion.

  Presently, as her frenzy spent itself, Sally began to think morecollectedly. She remembered Toby's last letter. She began to think ofhim. She thought even that she could run away and be divorced andabandon all her schemes for the sake of the baby. But as soon as Sallyhad such an imagining she knew that it was an impossibility for her.Only as a last resource could she accept her disaster. All herself-confidence fought against it. She must find some other way. Atfirst she thought it would be simple to do so; but as her brain workedupon the problem she found so many difficulties in the way that sheagain lost hope. The baby would ruin everything. Finally the return ofToby seemed to her to be the first necessity. She must see him. Shecould do nothing until she saw him. Longing seized her--a quick sensethat at least he was her lover, and therefore her partner. She wrote toToby, asking him to come and meet her as soon as he reached London. Thenshe waited, her exhausted torments having left her in a mood ofglittering-eyed sullen misery that might at any moment rise sharply toangry shrillness. Calm hid genuine fear, and it was the calm of one whohas no hope other than self-control.

  Gradually Sally came to know the big house in exact detail, because inthese days she was forced to find occupation for herself. Thedrawing-room, the dining-room, all the rooms upstairs, were ransacked.They held no treasures, indeed; but they gave Sally a rather distractinginterest because they aroused her sense of possession. She had wanted toown things--and these, although they were not what she had pictured,were property. There was the beginning of bourgeoise acquisitivenessand pride of ownership in her, after all. Scratch the worker and youfound the bourgeoise. There were carefully-hoarded lengths of richmaterial in the cupboards, lace and ribbons and shawls in differentchests of drawers; upon Madam's dressing-table was a manicure set and aset of tortoiseshell-backed brushes; in the drawers of the same tablewere perfumes in great variety. Far below stairs, Sally found the winecellar, and although it was small in size it contained more kinds ofwine than she had been able to imagine hitherto, and filled her with analmost grinning satisfaction. Not yet was her sense of social ambitionroused; but it was born. She began to look ahead. Parties, with the wineas a feature of them, were imagined. She began, in a manner, to picturewhat she would lose by defeat. The baby would ruin all. And she washelpless, because she could speak to nobody. She was condemned. Therewould be ruin, dreadful ruin, and she was glimpsing the very thingswhich she might have enjoyed. Fresh paroxysms shook Sally.Somehow--somehow, and by some means not as yet to be discovered, shemust 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 away to save her. And even as she frantically said this, Sally knew thatshe herself must control the situation. Thus early in her life she hadlearnt that for a girl of her type men, whatever her desire for anyother state, must always be employed under her direction. Toby wouldobey. He might do the donkey-work; but in fact Sally must lead. It washer fate, the fate of the girl with her own star to follow.

  Nevertheless, it was upon Toby that the immediate future depended. Notyet has woman the power to attain her ends except by and through men.Sally waited in ever-increasing excitement for some word from Toby,some hint of his coming. She was kept within the house at all timesexcept during her short flights in the morning or afternoon. She couldnot be long away from the house. And she must rely upon a letter, andthen perhaps a brief meeting, for her purposes. The time was going. Gagawas getting better, was growing more and more like the man in whosecompany she had gone to Penterby. His demand upon her presence wasincreasing in power, because he was sitting up, leaving his room, comingin search of her. Sally felt that already he was beginning to exercisean inquisition. A tremor shook her nerves. Sometimes it seemed to herthat Gaga's glance held a strangeness, almost a faint suspicion. Whenshe thought that she was conscious of a feeling akin to aversion.

  Aversion had not yet arrived. Gaga was still to be despised. But Sallyalready felt that she might presently find her task of deception veryhard under the constant scrutiny of such futile devotedness as hedisplayed. And Toby did not write. She had no means of knowing where hewas, whether the voyage upon which he was engaged would be long orshort, how much more time must elapse before their meeting. The suspensewas killing her. More than once, hearing Gaga calling to her, Sally hadhidden from him, and, at discovery, had been unable to conceal the hardcoldness of her feeling for him. If Toby would only come! If he wouldonly come! She thought that her nerve must before long give way, andonce it had gone she would be prematurely ruined. She felt trapped. Sheeven, desperately, would slip on a coat at nights and walk up and downoutside the house, in case Toby should be lurking near on the chance ofseeing her. She thought he might come thus. And on each occasion whenshe went out of the house in this way she returned to find Gagastanding in the dining-room, with the door open in such a way that hecould command a view of the inside of the front door. The knowledge thathe 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. Shecould not suppose his eager caresses to be other than penitence forsuspicion or an assertion of his claims upon her in perpetuity. Thedistress made her unresponsive, even repressive. Her foot tapped uponthe floor even while she could not wholly quell his convulsive nervousembrace. 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 asailor's short thick jacket, and his neck muffled, and a cap over hiseyes. He was standing in the shadow, and as she crossed to him allowedSally to enter that same embracing darkness which safely hid them both.She gave a little savage cry, and was in his strong arms, almost crazedwith relief and her physical sense of his so long withheld nearness. Shecould feel herself shuddering and trembling, but she was not directlyconscious of this. All she felt was a passionate joy at being able toabandon all her nervous self-control to this firmness and clenchedvigour.

  "Oh, Toby, Toby!" she whimpered, clutching him; and then no more forseveral minutes. Toby did not speak. He hugged Sally until she wasbreathless, and his hot kiss made her cheek burn. She pressed herforehead with all her strength against his breast, and longed that inthis moment she might for ever lose all knowledge of the trials whichbeset her. The trembling persisted for a long time; and then, as shewas comforted, it began to subside.

  "My girl, my girl!" muttered Toby, in a thick voice, warm against herear.

  "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 alie! 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 incredulous. He held heraway. "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 backto 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 whatto 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 coulddisbelieve what she herself knew to be true.

  "Well?" Toby demanded. "What of it? Whose fault is it?" He was brutallyangry, and a little frightened and blustering. They were still at arm'slength in the darkness of the deserted street. There was no lamp nearthem, and the houses behind were unlighted. Sally's heart fell. She wasalmost paralysed at Toby's tone. She was puzzled and chagrined andangry. 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