"Nor to-morrow night,
either."

Mrs. Minto left her work and came to the bedside. She was like a
snarling bitch, savage over her threatened young.

"Sally!" she exclaimed, in a rough voice. "What you doing! What d'you
mean? Of course you'll be home. You're not going to play any tricks with
me, my gel."

"I shan't be coming home," continued Sally. "Not ever. I'm getting
married to-day."

Mrs. Minto sat down upon the bed.

"Married!" she screamed. "Married! Why, who you going to marry! What
d'you mean? Silly girl, trying to frighten me!"

"Don't get excited, ma. I'm going to look after you. The fact is, I'm
... well, _you'll_ be all right. Nothing to worry about."

"Who _is_ he?" demanded Mrs. Minto. "Who _is_ he?" She was desperately
agitated. "Sally, I'm your mother.... Oh, you bad girl! You been
hiding.... I knew you was hiding something. I knew where them fast
frocks was leading you!"

Sally was enjoying the scene. But she suddenly checked herself.

"Ma, I'm marrying a rich man. I'm marrying Madam's son."

"Madam's _son_!"

"Yes." She was complacent. "Those fast frocks lead to the registry
office."

"Reg.... Not in church? It's.... Sally!"

"What I say," cried Sally.

"A rich man!"

"Mr. Bertram. And what's more he loves me. And you won't have to do any
more charing. Only sit here and gorge yourself on the police news, like
a lady, and...."

"Married!" gasped Mrs. Minto. She gave a foolish giggling laugh, and the
tears ran down her cheeks. "Is it _true_, Sally?"

Sally held up her left hand, brought it blazing from under the
bedclothes. Mrs. Minto seized the hand, squeezed it hard, and pored over
the brilliants.

"Well!" she exclaimed. Then she shook her head, and wiped the tears from
her cheeks. A great sobriety appeared in her expression. Anxiety was her
dominating concern. "D'you love him, Sally? You ought to have told me. I
ought to have seen him. He hasn't asked for you. He ought to have come
and asked your mother."

"Madam's ill. I told him I'd tell you. You got to give your consent,
'cause I'm so young. He's got no time to get away. I'm very fond of him,
and he thinks I'm...." Sally hoisted her shoulders. She had spoken very
deliberately.

"You said he was soppy."

Sally turned a cold eye upon her mother.

"You got too good a memory," she remarked. "What I've said to you....
Well, I knew you'd worry about him, and think I was going to get into
trouble, and.... Anyway, we're gett