Sally a glorious
evening's entertainment. At one step they had overleapt all that
separated them, and were friends. He began to tell her, unasked, about
his business, about his mother, about everything.

"My mother's a wonderful woman," he said. "Wonderful! She's made that
business with her own hands. She began in a small way, and the business
is almost out of her control. Not quite; but.... She's done it all
herself. All herself. Wonderful woman. And yet, you know, Sally; she's
hard. I wonder if you understand what I mean? She's always been a good
mother to me. I wish I could _tell_ you how good. There's the business
I'm in, for example. But Sally.... I'm not a business man.... If I had
somebody to do the business side, I've got.... I can design dresses.
That's what I'm good at. She knows. She lets me design them, sometimes.
I've got a touch, d'you see? But she's hard. She's so afraid of anybody
meddling. She's made that business herself, and she won't let anybody
else touch it. She has me to help her with the accounts; but, as I say,
I'm not a business man. She thinks I'm a fool. _You_ don't think I'm a
fool, do you, Sally?"

"Me? You?" cried Sally, looking at him guilelessly. "Mr. Bertram!"

"She's very ill, Sally. Very ill indeed. I can see it. You know, you
_feel_ something. You see her keeping on and keeping on. Something's
bound to go, sooner or later. It worries me, Sally. It worries me." From
his long and unusually consecutive speech, Gaga fell into a silence.
Meaninglessly, he repeated: "It worries me. That's one reason I asked
you to come out to-night, Sally. I'm worried."

"Poor man!" murmured Sally.

"You know, you're kind, Sally. I can see your little bright eyes
shining; and they make me ... they make me...." He was once again the
old, incoherent Gaga, fingering his unused cheese knife and looking at
her with an expression of pathetic helplessness that made Sally wary
lest she should betray amusement. "I feel you understand. You're not
very old, Sally; but I feel you understand. And.... I've always felt
that. 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. Her heightened spirits