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He was awake, and merely very unhappy and perhaps exhausted. With the slightest feeling of self-consciousness she advanced to Gaga's side, and laid a hand upon his shoulder. She could see the thinning hair upon the top of his head, and the long slim fingers pressed to his temples. "Mr. Bertram, I'm so sorry," whispered Sally.
As she looked forward to spending days and nights with him her heart sank. She was not shocked. She was not afraid. She knew that there would come a time when, after boring her, Gaga's kisses would become troublesome. And it was too late now to withdraw. She was too deeply into her new scheme of life. But this feverish, insatiably amorous, weak Gaga would get on her nerves.
"Not yet." "Must go." She took her hand away from his forehead, lingeringly. Gaga held her to him with rigidity. "Let me go." He took no notice, and Sally's hand rested gently upon his shoulder. At last: "Well?" said she. "Don't go." There was the slightest struggle, and Sally was free. Gaga's face was quite red. She stood looking down at him, on her lips that same quizzical smile.
You're such a wonderful little girl. I mean...." He broke off with a gesture of vague despair of his power to say what he actually did mean. "I feel you can help me." "Can I?" asked Sally, swiftly. "I'd love to." "Would you really?" Gaga's tone was a fresh one, one of hope and light. "Course I would," responded Sally. Already she was aware of practical advantages.
Groping, she found Gaga's cheque book, and turned again to the door. The walls of the tiny room seemed to rise forbiddingly around her, to come closer, to begin to topple over as if in ruin. Sally gasped for breath. She cowered. Everything became dark.... A long time passed before she was again conscious.
She savoured it, appreciating the fact that he shrank, knowing that when she wanted him to do anything she could always manage Gaga with the lightest touch. And that was why, in a moment, she allowed herself contact with his shoulder. Gaga's arm mechanically rose, and was about her waist, quite unpossessively. His face was moved with a conflict of emotions.
She had never done such a thing before, but she put her foot forward so that it touched one of his, and smiled right into Gaga's chocolate eyes. The slow red crept up under his skin, and they had no need to talk. Sally was laughing to herself, and eating some beautifully cooked veal, and she knew that Gaga was glowing with contentment.
Sally almost recoiled from the knowledge of what power she would wield in the business once she was Gaga's wife. It seemed to her incredible. Her mind strayed to Miss Summers, Miss Rapson, the jealous Rose.... How would they like it? What would they do? Sally imagined the news reaching them, imagined their fear of her, their jealousy, their cutting remarks about herself.
He was about the simplest man she had ever seen, for his tongue could hardly utter more than the tamest of words and phrases, and he never seemed to Sally to keep anything back. "And yet, you know," she went on, following Gaga's remark and this train of thought, "there's lots more to know about people than just what you see and what they do and say.
The houses were not at all crowded, but stood up at the first glance as if they were proud of great age and their height above the road from the station. "We going up there?" demanded Sally, pointing to the hill, and the houses erect upon it. "No, darling.... See ... that ... that ... lamp." Sally looked up at Gaga's face. Oh, if it had only been Toby! The blood suddenly rushed to her cheeks.