as
determined to kill her nothing would stop him. She was filled with
abject fear at her own physical powerlessness. But by now her wits were
alert again. Toby made a movement, and Sally started, ready to dart
away. He did not come nearer. A stupidity seemed to descend upon him.

A loud rap at the door startled them both.

"Hot water. Half-past seven. And less noise there!" came a loud voice.
The whole scene was transformed by the interruption. Both became
listless.

"Married!" Toby said, as if to himself. He shook his head.

"I love _you_," Sally told him.

He sat dully upon the bed. Timidly, for fear of another outburst, Sally
approached him. At last, standing by his side, she held Toby's head to
her breast, kissing him with little fierce kisses that must have carried
their message to his heart. At last Toby's arms were raised, and around
her, and she was pressed to him once more. Their lips met. Toby made a
muffled, snarling sound that was a mixture of love and hatred and
masterfulness. He held her with ferocity. Then, as suddenly, his muscles
relaxed, until Sally by repeated endearments baffled his indignation and
softened his anger. She was struggling with all her might to keep
possession of him, moving each instant with more assurance among his
dull thoughts and his easily-roused passions. As the moments passed she
knew that she had kept him, and at this knowledge her own passion rose
until it equalled Toby's.

"My love," she whispered. "My dear love."

xi

Later in the day, when she was able to think of all that had happened,
Sally had an unexpected glimpse of the situation. She realised that she
was a victor. She was almost too satisfied. She had no shame, no
contrition; she merely knew that if she might still keep Toby her
marriage with Gaga would be bearable. She had none of the turmoil of the
conventional married woman who takes a lover; but then she had never
been trained to be scrupulous. She was still young enough to be
intoxicated by her own prowess. She could manage Gaga; she could manage
Toby; she could manage the business--there was no end to her power. More
than anything else, it was necessity to her to gratify her sense of
power. If that necessity had been removed she would have known herself
for a reckless fool; but the demand for power obliterated every
inconvenient thought of risk. As for a sense of honour, Sally had been
born without one.

All the girls looked at her "very old-fashi