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Updated: June 2, 2025
They were instantly alone, and walking along the street together in the autumn sunshine, married and excited, but merely two strangers on their way to lunch. And yet that was not quite all, because when they were seated at lunch Sally felt the slightest sensation of flurry at Gaga's possessive stare.
Beyond the bar Sally noticed decanters and bottles and upturned glasses. Before her was another door, open, which revealed a table upon which glasses had left little circular stains. She was all curiosity. This must be the saloon. She gave a sharp mischievous hunching of the shoulders, and hugged Gaga's arm.
"How lovely!" Sally's face broke once more into that expressive grin. They sat smiling at each other, almost as lovers do who have stumbled upon an unsuspected agreement in taste. The mood lasted perhaps a minute Then it changed ever so slightly. "Would Madam mind?" next urged Sally. Gaga's face clouded. She was watching him breathlessly, and saw his fists clenched.
She saw his grey face all pointed and sunken in the electric light, and took in the general bareness of the bedroom, with its plain iron bedstead and cream coloured crockery and worn carpet and walls of a cold pale blue. "Sally," groaned Gaga. "I've been waiting for you." "You ill?" she asked, perfunctorily. "Is your head bad?" "Dreadful! How long you've been." Gaga's voice was feeble.
Not only had she a secret understanding with Gaga; she had also a secret understanding with Gaga's mother. She was most marvellously Sally Minto. The world was open to her. It was not the extra three shillings a week that intoxicated her: it was the sense of a difficult and engaging future. Her ambition had never been so strong.
He fainted in the flat, overcome by the smell of paint and the excitement of proprietorship. With the help of one of the painters Sally took him home in a cab and put him to bed. The doctor arrived, nodded, and was not in the least surprised or alarmed. Sally was merely to be Gaga's nurse once more. It did not matter to the doctor, who had no interest in Gaga except as a patient.
He spoke with difficulty. His hand was reached out for hers. With an effort Sally took it, and bent and kissed Gaga's temple. He looked ghastly, and his face was moist with perspiration. Had Gaga seen the aversion in Sally's eyes he would have released her in horror; but he was self-engrossed.
"We haven't, have we!" "It's so much nicer being ... friends." One of Gaga's hands was stretched across the table. With a sense of mischief Sally allowed him to take her own hand. Then she moved it quickly. "They're looking at us," she whispered to him. "Those waitress girls." Instantly she was free. She had the thought that a real man would have held her hand for a moment longer.
She also knew that resistance would make him ill again; and however much she chafed at his kisses she chafed still more at the constant attention demanded by Gaga's state of health, which kept her ever there and delayed intolerably the execution of those plans which would have interposed a relief from these intimacies.
They had come without luggage, and it had been an impulse of caution which had led her to wear the ring. Slowly she turned it round and round upon her finger, not recalling that it was Gaga's ring, not considering her use of it an added dishonour to Gaga, but looking at it abstractedly. The ring meant so much, and so little. Her marriage had meant so much and so little.
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