Coquette

called for greater resource in herself.

  Once, when they had stopped and Sally had stood close to him so that hemight light a fresh cigarette under the shelter of her body, Toby blewforth a puff of smoke and put his arm round her. Very coolly did Sallyfree herself, perfectly mistress of the situation; but she liked him thebetter for his boldness. It was the sort of thing she had dreamed--alover who was ardent, a lover who had to be repelled, so that thedelight of ultimate surrender should be fully savoured. Was he a lover?Sally shivered. The attempt and the rebuff made them more intimate, asthough an understanding had been reached between them. They walked alongelbow to elbow, at first silent, and then talking freely, both ingood-humor and with continued interest. In the safe darkness Sally'seyes glistened. The very faintest smile made her mouth enigmatic.Already she carried herself with fresh assurance. She was conscious ofher power, and altogether resolved to maintain it by prudence.

  viii

  All this time Toby had never seen Sally in daylight. He had seen her ina glimpse under the flickering hall gas, and again from time to time inthe shine of street lamps; but he had never once been with her indaylight. She herself was conscious of this, at first accidental, butnow deliberate, mystification; and she dreaded the disclosure that wasbound to come. It was not, she knew, that she was ugly; but only that toa man like Toby her small face and sandy hair might mark her down andruin everything. She feared to notice a change in him, a change fromtheir present and increasingly confidential relation to an indifference,a contempt, which she might find unbearable. The feeling was acute. Itwas not solely due to dependence upon Toby, but was a part of herlong-suffered self-disparagement and a fear, almost fatalistic, that shecould never keep a man's interest. The fear grew more intense as shefell 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 lifebefore 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. Inthis stronger mood, she concentrated upon her own prettiness, theslimness of her body, her power to please him. But the confidence didnot last, because he had become a necessity to her. Havinghalf-determined to snare him, Sally was herself snared by the gins oflove. 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 rawmaterial for Miss Jubb's costumes, Sally always looked to the nights.When it rained, and she had to stay indoors, she chafed irritably andwent early to bed. When she met Toby she was full of unwonted highspirits. For a long time she did not know what had happened to her. Thenat last the truth flashed out one morning as she lay in bed, and with alittle laughing sound Sally knew that she was in love.

  She was in love. And Toby, how did he feel? A new stage had beenreached, when her caution was directed to an altogether different end.She did not now seek so coolly to play with his inclinations. She hadgreat need for care lest she should betray her own secret. Theoccasional contacts with him had become an eager need, and must bechecked so as to make them appear as accidental as they were deliberate.Sally was not withholding from coquetry, but from dread lest she shouldgive herself away and show herself over-willing. She noticed everythinghe did, without watchful scrutiny, and with the merest quickness of hercaressing glance. She loved everything in him, his speech and hismovements, his strength, his stubbornness, his rough carriage andsilence. She loved him. She feared him. She did not dare to risk losinghim. 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 toimagine just how pretty Toby might be made to think her, Sally lost hernerve. She was tearful all that day, tearful and speechless, so that arebuke from Miss Jubb brought about a real fit of crying. Miss Jubb,astounded at such a collapse, instantly abandoned blame and showed truekindness of heart, while May Pearcey looked on with round saucer eyesabove her round apple cheeks. And Sally went home early, ashamed ofherself, once more irritable to viciousness, and spent the time beforeher mother's return lying upon the bed and trying to sleep. There was nowalk that night. Toby went out as usual, and even ventured a whistlewhen 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 hewas waiting. She dared not go. In half an hour she heard Toby return,and go tramping indignantly up to his room directly above. The soundmade her cry more than ever, but very quietly, in case her mother shouldhear and awaken.

  The next night was even more wretched, for Toby went out and was nowhereto be seen when Sally followed him. She walked fruitlessly in thedirections they had taken upon previous evenings, and came backdisconsolate and exhausted. Pale and ill, Sally could not sleep. She hadbeen living poorly, and her spirit was low. The future was dismal. Tobymust have thrown her over. It was in vain that her wits consoled herwith the certainty that he must have missed her, that a boy who did notcare about her would never have shown such surly pique as his. So greathad her love become that she could not listen to such reassurance. Onlythe worst was convincing enough for her misery. He was gone. He was donewith her. She had lost him. No wonder then when she was alone Sally'seyes filled with weak tears.

  Fortunately enough the next day was a Saturday, and she was able to goalone up to Waterlow Park, on Highgate Hill. She walked up the HollowayRoad alone, and saw the autumn sun flashing upon the cross which standserect above St. Joseph's dome. The air was already murky with theheaviness of the season. Leaves lay upon the ground and in the pathways.The cable-cars grunted and groaned upon the hill, and the Park lookedbleak in the daylight. But the exercise did Sally good, and she sawother people, and watched some children playing touch until the Parkbell rang to show that the gates were going to be closed. Even then shelingered, watching the moving figures and noticing the greenness of thegrass under the shrivelling leaves.

  From that walk she returned more healthy and in better spirits. Shedetermined to go out marketing with her mother in the evening, andwalked back past the flaring lamps, at which women were alreadycrowding, with her head in the air and her courage high. She almostforgot Toby while she was bathed in this flustering brilliance of lightand noise. Only far below, in her heart, continued that inexhaustibleconsciousness of her love. Even in this temporary oblivion she shiveredas 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, incase Toby should meet her. It was with a mingled relief and chagrin thatshe reached the house alone. She was inside the door now, and the womanon the ground floor was just standing on a chair to light the gas. Sallyhad to wait for a minute until she plunged heavily down and dragged thechair aside.

  "Oh," said the woman. "There's a letter for you. It's just come. Thisminute."

  It was not often that Sally had a letter. Had Toby written to her? Shepounced upon the envelope. Fancy his doing that! Oh, no. It was onlyfrom Aunt Emmy, at Brixton. Well, perhaps Aunt Emmy knew somebody in theWest 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. Shoppin', 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 didwhen his wife poured gudgeon upon him while he slept.

  Sally, threatened with a lengthy conversation, made for the stairs. Shereached their room, which was lighted; and so she knew that her motherwould not be long. A kettle was singing on a small fire of coal blocks,and the teapot was laid to warm. Sally looked round the room, guessedthat her mother had gone out for tea or sugar, and tore open her letter.In ugly crude writing 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 better start writing to you. Such news I've got. I've won thirt
y-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 something 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 stopbeating for an instant. She looked again at the postal-order, and with asharp movement put it inside her blouse. Then she put the letter in thefire, and watched it flame and blacken and flick to pieces in thedraught. Slowly, thinking with all her might, she took off herout-of-doors jacket and hung it up. A pound! She was rich! With a poundyou could do a lot. You