she improvised
a story.

"Well, I'm not living with ma any longer. I gone out to live in," she
lied.

"Stoke Newington?"

"No."

"Lost your job?"

"No."

He was baffled! but he knew that something was amiss. Sally could feel
him drawing deep breaths. In the shadow she could imagine that his jaw
was firmly set. It was strange to feel so happy in his arms, so afraid
of death, so frustrated in the composition of any tale by which she
could free herself and thus gain time to make some fresh plan. Sally had
never been in a comparable quandary.

"Where you living?" he next demanded.

"Don't be rough. You're hurting. Well, I'm living. I forget the address.
Only went there last night. I'm with a friend."

"What sort of a friend? A girl? What's her name?"

"Miss Summers."

Toby considered. He had heard that name, Sally knew, and must remember
it. She felt that at last she had stumbled upon something which would
seem to him probable enough to allay immediate suspicion.

"She's your forewoman or something, isn't she?" he demanded.

"Yes. She's very kind. She's ever so nice." Sally prayed that he might
believe her. There was a long pause of doubt, during which hysteria,
rising, nearly provoked a frantic struggle for freedom and flight. But
she remembered a former occasion, and her knees were weak at the
foreknowledge of failure. He would not be merciful. She feared him and
adored him.

"Well," Toby said at last, in a grumble; "when do I see you? Eh?" Thank
God, his voice had changed. He had spoken slowly and in acceptance of
the tale. Sally conquered a sob that would have betrayed her. Toby had
been tricked. There was still a chance that she might be able to manage
him for the present.

Sally thought for a moment, but in a distracted blur. All her plans,
made upon the assumption that he would be at sea for at least a week
longer, had miscarried. There was now no sense in moving her mother
hurriedly and secretly. Toby, in the room above, would be aware of
everything. She must arrange this differently. It would need a careful
scheme. When would Toby receive his letter? Probably it would not be
forwarded at all, but would be kept at the offices of the shipping
company. That was what had happened once or twice before. He would be at
home a week. She had a week. How tired she was! She must get away now,
and have a chance to think; but she must see Toby again. She _must_.

"To-morrow," Sally gasped. "To-morrow nig