Dressmakers -- Fiction; Love stories; Young women -- Fiction
"Well, I won't have it!" cried Toby, restless in his seat. His dark face
was darker. There was a red under his tan, and a gleam of his teeth that
made him like an angry dog. "And that's enough of it. I won't have it.
You belong to me. See? And if I catch another fellow nosing round I'll
split his head open. Damned sauce! Just because I'm away, you think you
can go marching about...."
He sulked for several minutes, frowning, and biting a torn thumbnail.
"What you done to your thumb?" demanded Sally taking it quickly between
her own fingers. Toby made no answer, but, very flushed, drew his thumb
away. With her chin a little out, and an air of quietly humming to
herself, Sally looked at all the shops and houses upon their route, and
at the people walking sedately upon the pavements. As it was Saturday
afternoon, many of the West End stores were shuttered; but as the bus
went farther west, and into suburban areas, there was great marketing
activity. Sally watched all the people and observed all the shops with
an absorbed childish interest that was almost passionate in its
intensity. She took no notice of Toby for a quarter of an hour. He might
not have been there. This was his punishment for being outspoken and
suspicious. She was not going to have that sort of thing from anybody.
But if Sally was supercilious, Toby was stubborn. Once his grievance had
been voiced, and had been taken flippantly, he was reduced to glowering.
At Sally's continued disregard, and after a going over in his own mind
of all they had said, Toby began to feel uncomfortable. He began to feel
a fool. At the precise moment when his sensation of foolishness was
strongest upon him, Sally turned and slipped her arm within his, and
pressed his elbow warmly against her side. They did not speak; but peace
was made. Presently Sally began to draw Toby's attention to things they
passed, and although at first he was surly in his responses, Toby was
gradually and surely appeased by her masterly handling of him. He was
not free from suspicion--she did not want him to be, because it enhanced
her value; but he was dominated by her cajolery.
When they arrived in Richmond, and had climbed the hill, and had looked
down from the Terrace Gardens upon that lovely piece of the Thames which
is to be seen from the height, Sally and Toby walked arm in arm about
the Deer Park. They saw the leaves falling, quite yellow, although the
trees were still dense with foliage; and the crisp air exhilarated them.
In the sun it was hot and dazzlingly bright.
"Tell me about what you've seen, Toby," suddenly asked Sally.
"Seen?" Toby fumbled a minute in his mind. "What d'you mean--seen?"
"At sea, and when you go ashore. _You_ know. Ships and places."
Toby looked puzzled. "Well, what's there to tell?" he questioned. "A
ship's a ship. You wouldn't understand if I was to tell you I'd seen a
schooner, or a barque, or a cattle-boat, or a dinghy." He was rather
lofty. "I mean, you wouldn't _know_."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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