en! They were all alike. All right as long as they were playing first
fiddle! That was it: Toby didn't want her to have a chance at all. He
wanted her always to be number two. Sally shook her head obstinately.

"All right, Master Toby!" she said to herself. There was no more in it
than that--a momentary revolt;--but once the notion had arisen it began
to revolve in her mind. She could not remember if she had ever told Toby
of her plan to be a successful dressmaker; but what would he say to
that? Would he like his wife to make money, and to have real ladies
coming to her as they did to Madam? It seemed from this that he would
not. He preferred to be top dog. Sally was to be nothing upon her own
account--merely to fetch and carry, and do what she was told, and
husband his paltry little earnings. He'd rather be poor than owe
anything to his wife, in case she became bigger than himself. Was that
it? Was that Master Toby's idea? If so, it was not Sally's. She suddenly
understood that Toby thought of her as his wife, as his chattel; and
that she had never ceased, except in the passionate excitement of their
early relations, to think of herself as one who belonged to herself and
was going to make some sort of life for herself. This came as a shock to
Sally. She had never thought of it before. She was beginning to grow up.
From that time she first began to criticise Toby. Until then he had been
the burly man she loved. Her thoughts of him, as her love for him, had
been merely physical. She was now to search more deeply into the needs
of life, still crudely, but examiningly. It was not enough, then, to
love a man if you were going to have something else to do in life
besides love him. The idea was new. It puzzled her. It was something
outside the novelettes she had read, and outside her own precocious
thoughts. Love was love--all knew that. She loved Toby; she had given
herself to him; they were practically married; and now it appeared that
something was wrong somewhere. Toby did not want her to be Sally: he
wanted her to be just a sort of moon-Toby. Another girl would have
wanted nothing better. Sally told herself that she was different. She
went out by herself, one evening, instead of working; and walked up to
Highgate. And as she went up the hill she sang to herself the ballad
"The Love Path." It began:

"When you and I go down the love path together,
Birds shall be singing and the day so long,"

and she could play the