n
opportunity as she had never had before. But although she went close to
the door, and listened eagerly, there was no sound within. The room
might have been empty. Or Madam might be there; and if Sally sang, which
would please Gaga, Madam might come out, find her in the workroom
without real excuse, and give her the sack. Sally was too wise to
believe that in such a case Gaga could save her. She could imagine him
stammering a defence, and being crushed, and perhaps being kind to her
for a little while and fussing about to find her a job elsewhere. And
that would be the end of that. She neither sang nor whistled. Every now
and then she again listened, until she was impatient with uncertainty.
Her impatience made her laugh. Fancy being impatient for seven o'clock!
And for Gaga! It wasn't natural. It was--like Gaga himself--ridiculous.

Seven o'clock struck before she was ready; but Sally did not care. She
had no objection to the thought of Gaga waiting in patience at the
corner of the street. Toby would have been a slightly different matter.
Not that she was more afraid of Toby now than she was of Gaga. All the
same, she would not have kept him waiting. Neither Toby nor Gaga would
have kept Sally waiting. Toby would have been punctual; Gaga had been
standing at the corner already for five minutes. It was a curious moral
effect that Sally had. She was not to be treated lightly. Even now, she
was learning her power, and in this case she was illustrating it. She
did not join Gaga until she was satisfied that every smallest fold in
her dress was in perfect order, her hat precisely at the desired angle,
her gloves buttoned. Then, shutting the door with a steady bang which
rendered any shaking needless, she kept her appointment, not a timid
dressmaker's assistant, but a woman of the world. At seventeen--for she
had not yet reached her eighteenth birthday, although it was now very
near--she was more of a woman of the world than she would be at
twenty-eight, when her first intuitions had been blunted by actual
experience.

Gaga was standing thoughtfully leaning upon his walking stick. His
shoulders were bent, and the slim, and rather graceful, outline of his
figure made him appear almost pathetic in his loneliness. Sally--Sally
the hard and ambitious--was struck by a sharp irritation and pity,
almost by compunction. She did not know what her feeling for Gaga was;
but principally it was composed of contempt. He had good looks, a