nd he
had money. He could help her at present as nobody else could do. But at
heart Sally dismissed him with a word which, to her, was fatal. He was
soppy. Not mad, not altogether stupid, but painfully lacking in vital
energy and confidence. Of all things Sally best loved assurance, and
Gaga had none of it. He drooped in waiting, and the message of his fine
clothes was contradicted by his pose, and not reinforced by it.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she said perfunctorily, at his start of
recognition and delight. Gaga's face changed completely. From one of
gloom, his expression became one of joy. "I didn't notice the time. I
was working there alone-- Miss Summers had gone. I was finishing
something. I didn't know if you'd gone or not. I couldn't hear anything
from Madam's room. Didn't like to knock, or anything."

Gaga said nothing. He walked by her side, and Sally looked up at him
almost as she might have done at a policeman or a lamp-post. He _was_
tall, she thought, when he straightened his back. And he dressed like a
prince. At that instant she was proud to be walking by his side. She
thought: "I must look a shrimp beside him! Him so big--so tall, and me
so little. But I'm as smart as he is, any day in the week. Wish he
always held himself up like that! What salmony lips he's got, and ...
it's his long lashes that make his eyes look so soft. Chocolate eyes....
Funny! He's got a weak chin. No, his _chin's_ all right. It's ... you
can't see his jaw at all: goes right in, and gets lost. And a funny
nose--got no shape to it. Just a nose." She had the curiosity to wonder
what his grey cheek felt like. She would like, one day, to touch it with
her finger, just to see. It looked dry and soft. All this she glimpsed
and considered like lightning while they walked quickly towards
Piccadilly Circus; and her notions gathered and grew in Gaga's silence.

"Were you working?" Sally presently asked, trying to say something to
begin a conversation.

Gaga shook his head, stealing a shy glance down at her.

"No. Not working," he said. "I had rather a headache, so I went for a
walk in the Park."

"Oo. Sorry you've got a headache." Sally unconsciously became
sympathetic. "Is it very bad? It's nerves, I expect. If you're nervous
you have splitting headaches. My mother's _always_ talking about her
head. She gets so tired, you know; and it goes to her head; and she sits
still and can't think about anything else. Is ... is Madam quite well