Chapter 17 Sally Lays A Ghost

    The blood flowed slowly back into Sally's face, and her heart, whichhad leaped madly for an instant at the sound of his voice, resumed itsnormal beat. The suddenness of the shock over, she was surprised to findherself perfectly calm. Always when she had imagined this meeting,knowing that it would have to take place sooner or later, she had feltsomething akin to panic: but now that it had actually occurred it hardlyseemed to stir her. The events of the night had left her incapable ofany violent emotion.

　　"Hullo, Sally!" said Gerald.

　　He spoke thickly, and there was a foolish smile on his face as he stoodswaying with one hand on the door. He was in his shirt-sleeves,collarless: and it was plain that he had been drinking heavily. His facewas white and puffy, and about him there hung like a nimbus a soddendisreputableness.

　　Sally did not speak. Weighed down before by a numbing exhaustion, sheseemed now to have passed into that second phase in which over-tirednerves enter upon a sort of Indian summer of abnormal alertness. Shelooked at him quietly, coolly and altogether dispassionately, as if hehad been a stranger.

　　"Hullo!" said Gerald again.

　　"What do you want?" said Sally.

　　"Heard your voice. Saw the door open. Thought I'd come in.""What do you want?"The weak smile which had seemed pinned on Gerald's face vanished. Atear rolled down his cheek. His intoxication had reached the maudlinstage.

　　"Sally... S-Sally... I'm very miserable." He slurred awkwardly over thedifficult syllables. "Heard your voice. Saw the door open. Thought I'dcome in."Something flicked at the back of Sally's mind. She seemed to have beenthrough all this before. Then she remembered. This was simply Mr.

　　Reginald Cracknell over again.

　　"I think you had better go to bed, Gerald," she said steadily. Nothingabout him seemed to touch her now, neither the sight of him nor hisshameless misery.

　　"What's the use? Can't sleep. No good. Couldn't sleep. Sally, youdon't know how worried I am. I see what a fool I've been."Sally made a quick gesture, to check what she supposed was about todevelop into a belated expression of regret for his treatment ofherself. She did not want to stand there listening to Gerald apologizingwith tears for having done his best to wreck her life. But it seemedthat it was not this that was weighing upon his soul.

　　"I was a fool ever to try writing plays," he went on. "Got a winnerfirst time, but can't repeat. It's no good. Ought to have stuck tonewspaper work. I'm good at that. Shall have to go back to it. Hadanother frost to-night. No good trying any more. Shall have to go backto the old grind, damn it."He wept softly, full of pity for his hard case.

　　"Very miserable," he murmured.

　　He came forward a step into the room, lurched, and retreated to thesafe support of the door. For an instant Sally's artificial calm wasshot through by a swift stab of contempt. It passed, and she was backagain in her armour of indifference.

　　"Go to bed, Gerald," she said. "You'll feel better in the morning."Perhaps some inkling of how he was going to feel in the morning workedthrough to Gerald's muddled intelligence, for he winced, and his mannertook on a deeper melancholy.

　　"May not be alive in the morning," he said solemnly. "Good mind to endit all. End it all!" he repeated with the beginning of a sweepinggesture which was cut off abruptly as he clutched at the friendly door.

　　Sally was not in the mood for melodrama.

　　"Oh, go to bed," she said impatiently. The strange frozen indifferencewhich had gripped her was beginning to pass, leaving in its place agrowing feeling of resentment--resentment against Gerald for degradinghimself like this, against herself for ever having found glamour in theman. It humiliated her to remember how utterly she had once allowed hispersonality to master hers. And under the sting of this humiliation shefelt hard and pitiless. Dimly she was aware that a curious change hadcome over her to-night. Normally, the sight of any living thing indistress was enough to stir her quick sympathy: but Gerald mourning overthe prospect of having to go back to regular work made no appeal toher--a fact which the sufferer noted and commented upon.

　　"You're very unsymp... unsympathetic," he complained.

　　"I'm sorry," said Sally. She walked briskly to the door and gave it apush. Gerald, still clinging to his chosen support, moved out into thepassage, attached to the handle, with the air of a man the foundationsof whose world have suddenly lost their stability. He released thehandle and moved uncertainly across the passage. Finding his own dooropen before him, he staggered over the threshold; and Sally, havingwatched him safely to his journey's end, went into her bedroom with theintention of terminating this disturbing night by going to sleep.

　　Almost immediately she changed her mind. Sleep was out of the question.

　　A fever of restlessness had come upon her. She put on a kimono, and wentinto the kitchen to ascertain whether her commissariat arrangementswould permit of a glass of hot milk.

　　She had just remembered that she had that morning presented the last ofthe milk to a sandy cat with a purposeful eye which had dropped inthrough the window to take breakfast with her, when her regrets forthis thriftless hospitality were interrupted by a muffled crash.

　　She listened intently. The sound had seemed to come from across thepassage. She hurried to the door and opened it. As she did so, frombehind the door of the apartment opposite there came a perfect fusilladeof crashes, each seeming to her strained hearing louder and moreappalling than the last.

　　There is something about sudden, loud noises in the stillness of thenight which shatters the most rigid detachment. A short while before,Gerald, toying with the idea of ending his sorrows by violence, had leftSally unmoved: but now her mind leapt back to what he had said, andapprehension succeeded indifference. There was no disputing the factthat Gerald was in an irresponsible mood, under the influence of whichhe was capable of doing almost anything. Sally, listening in thedoorway, felt a momentary panic.

　　A brief silence had succeeded the fusillade, but, as she stood therehesitating, the noise broke out again; and this time it was so loud andcompelling that Sally hesitated no longer. She ran across the passageand beat on the door.

　　Whatever devastating happenings had been going on in his home, it wasplain a moment later that Gerald had managed to survive them: for therecame the sound of a dragging footstep, and the door opened. Gerald stoodon the threshold, the weak smile back on his face.

　　"Hullo, Sally!"At the sight of him, disreputable and obviously unscathed, Sally'sbrief alarm died away, leaving in its place the old feeling of impatientresentment. In addition to her other grievances against him, he hadapparently frightened her unnecessarily.

　　"Whatever was all that noise?" she demanded.

　　"Noise?" said Gerald, considering the point open-mouthed.

　　"Yes, noise," snapped Sally.

　　"I've been cleaning house," said Gerald with the owl-like gravity of aman just conscious that he is not wholly himself.

　　Sally pushed her way past him. The apartment in which she found herselfwas almost an exact replica of her own, and it was evident that ElsaDoland had taken pains to make it pretty and comfortable in a nigglyfeminine way. Amateur interior decoration had always been a hobby ofhers. Even in the unpromising surroundings of her bedroom at Mrs.

　　Meecher's boarding-house she had contrived to create a certaindaintiness which Sally, who had no ability in that direction herself,had always rather envied. As a decorator Elsa's mind ran in thedirection of small, fragile ornaments, and she was not afraid ofover-furnishing. Pictures jostled one another on the walls: china of alldescription stood about on little tables: there was a profusion of lampswith shades of parti-coloured glass: and plates were ranged along aseries of shelves.

　　One says that the plates were ranged and the pictures jostled oneanother, but it would be more correct to put it they had jostled and hadbeen ranged, for it was only by guess-work that Sally was able toreconstruct the scene as it must have appeared before Gerald hadstarted, as he put it, to clean house. She had walked into the flatbriskly enough, but she pulled up short as she crossed the threshold,appalled by the majestic ruin that met her gaze. A shell bursting in thelittle sitting-room could hardly have created more havoc.

　　The psychology of a man of weak character under the influence of alcoholand disappointed ambition is not easy to plumb, for his moods follow oneanother with a rapidity which baffles the observer. Ten minutes before,Gerald Foster had been in the grip of a clammy self-pity, and it seemedfrom his aspect at the present moment that this phase had returned. Butin the interval there had manifestly occurred a brief but adequate spasmof what would appear to have been an almost Berserk fury. What hadcaused it and why it should have expended itself so abruptly, Sally wasnot psychologist enough to explain; but that it had existed there wasocular evidence of the most convincing kind. A heavy niblick, flungpetulantly--or remorsefully--into a corner, showed by what medium thedestruction had been accomplished.

　　Bleak chaos appeared on every side. The floor was littered with everyimaginable shape and size of broken glass and china. Fragments ofpictures, looking as if they had been chewed by some prehistoric animal,lay amid heaps of shattered statuettes and vases. As Sally moved slowlyinto the room after her involuntary pause, china crackled beneath herfeet. She surveyed the stripped walls with a wondering eye, and turnedto Gerald for an explanation.

　　Gerald had subsided on to an occasional table, and was weeping softlyagain. It had come over him once more that he had been very, very badlytreated.

　　"Well!" said Sally with a gasp. "You've certainly made a good job ofit!"There was a sharp crack as the occasional table, never designed by itsmaker to bear heavy weights, gave way in a splintering flurry of brokenlegs under the pressure of the master of the house: and Sally's moodunderwent an abrupt change. There are few situations in life which donot hold equal potentialities for both tragedy and farce, and it was theludicrous side of this drama that chanced to appeal to Sally at thismoment. Her sense of humour was tickled. It was, if she could haveanalysed her feelings, at herself that she was mocking--at the feeblesentimental Sally who had once conceived the absurd idea of taking thispreposterous man seriously. She felt light-hearted and light-headed, andshe sank into a chair with a gurgling laugh.

　　The shock of his fall appeared to have had the desirable effect ofrestoring Gerald to something approaching intelligence. He pickedhimself up from the remains of a set of water-colours, gazing at Sallywith growing disapproval.

　　"No sympathy," he said austerely.

　　"I can't help it," cried Sally. "It's too funny.""Not funny," corrected Gerald, his brain beginning to cloud once more.

　　"What did you do it for?"Gerald returned for a moment to that mood of honest indignation, whichhad so strengthened his arm when wielding the niblick. He bethought himonce again of his grievance.

　　"Wasn't going to stand for it any longer," he said heatedly. "Afellow's wife goes and lets him down... ruins his show by going off andplaying in another show... why shouldn't I smash her things? Why shouldI stand for that sort of treatment? Why should I?""Well, you haven't," said Sally, "so there's no need to discuss it. Youseem to have acted in a thoroughly manly and independent way.""That's it. Manly independent." He waggled his finger impressively.

　　"Don't care what she says," he continued. "Don't care if she never comesback. That woman..."Sally was not prepared to embark with him upon a discussion of theabsent Elsa. Already the amusing aspect of the affair had begun to fade,and her hilarity was giving way to a tired distaste for the sordidnessof the whole business. She had become aware that she could not endurethe society of Gerald Foster much longer. She got up and spokedecidedly.

　　"And now," she said, "I'm going to tidy up."Gerald had other views.

　　"No," he said with sudden solemnity. "No! Nothing of the kind. Leaveit for her to find. Leave it as it is.""Don't be silly. All this has got to be cleaned up. I'll do it. Yougo and sit in my apartment. I'll come and tell you when you can comeback.""No!" said Gerald, wagging his head.

　　Sally stamped her foot among the crackling ruins. Quite suddenly thesight of him had become intolerable.

　　"Do as I tell you," she cried.

　　Gerald wavered for a moment, but his brief militant mood was ebbingfast. After a faint protest he shuffled off, and Sally heard him go intoher room. She breathed a deep breath of relief and turned to her task.

　　A visit to the kitchen revealed a long-handled broom, and, armed withthis, Sally was soon busy. She was an efficient little person, andpresently out of chaos there began to emerge a certain order. Nothingshort of complete re-decoration would ever make the place look habitableagain, but at the end of half an hour she had cleared the floor, and thefragments of vases, plates, lamp-shades, pictures and glasses werestacked in tiny heaps against the walls. She returned the broom to thekitchen, and, going back into the sitting-room, flung open the windowand stood looking out.

　　With a sense of unreality she perceived that the night had gone. Overthe quiet street below there brooded that strange, metallic light whichushers in the dawn of a fine day. A cold breeze whispered to and fro.

　　Above the house-tops the sky was a faint, level blue.

　　She left the window and started to cross the room. And suddenly therecame over her a feeling of utter weakness. She stumbled to a chair,conscious only of being tired beyond the possibility of a furthereffort. Her eyes closed, and almost before her head had touched thecushions she was asleep.

　　Sally woke. Sunshine was streaming through the open window, and with itthe myriad noises of a city awake and about its business. Footstepsclattered on the sidewalk, automobile horns were sounding, and she couldhear the clank of street cars as they passed over the points. She couldonly guess at the hour, but it was evident that the morning was welladvanced. She got up stiffly. Her head was aching.

　　She went into the bathroom, bathed her face, and felt better. The dulloppression which comes of a bad night was leaving her. She leaned out ofthe window, revelling in the fresh air, then crossed the passage andentered her own apartment. Stertorous breathing greeted her, and sheperceived that Gerald Foster had also passed the night in a chair. Hewas sprawling by the window with his legs stretched out and his headresting on one of the arms, an unlovely spectacle.

　　Sally stood regarding him for a moment with a return of the distastewhich she had felt on the previous night. And yet, mingled with thedistaste, there was a certain elation. A black chapter of her life wasclosed for ever. Whatever the years to come might bring to her, theywould be free from any wistful yearnings for the man who had once beenwoven so inextricably into the fabric of her life. She had thought thathis personality had gripped her too strongly ever to be dislodged, butnow she could look at him calmly and feel only a faint half-pity,half-contempt. The glamour had departed.

　　She shook him gently, and he sat up with a start, blinking in the stronglight. His mouth was still open. He stared at Sally foolishly, thenscrambled awkwardly out of the chair.

　　"Oh, my God!" said Gerald, pressing both his hands to his forehead andsitting down again. He licked his lips with a dry tongue and moaned.

　　"Oh, I've got a headache!"Sally might have pointed out to him that he had certainly earned one,but she refrained.

　　"You'd better go and have a wash," she suggested.

　　"Yes," said Gerald, heaving himself up again.

　　"Would you like some breakfast?""Don't!" said Gerald faintly, and tottered off to the bathroom.

　　Sally sat down in the chair he had vacated. She had never felt quitelike this before in her life. Everything seemed dreamlike. The splashingof water in the bathroom came faintly to her, and she realized that shehad been on the point of falling asleep again. She got up and opened thewindow, and once more the air acted as a restorative. She watched theactivities of the street with a distant interest. They, too, seemeddreamlike and unreal. People were hurrying up and down on mysteriouserrands. An inscrutable cat picked its way daintily across the road. Atthe door of the apartment house an open car purred sleepily.

　　She was roused by a ring at the bell. She went to the door and openedit, and found Bruce Carmyle standing on the threshold. He wore a lightmotor-coat, and he was plainly endeavouring to soften the severity ofhis saturnine face with a smile of beaming kindliness.

　　"Well, here I am!" said Bruce Carmyle cheerily. "Are you ready?"With the coming of daylight a certain penitence had descended on Mr.

　　Carmyle. Thinking things over while shaving and subsequently in hisbath, he had come to the conclusion that his behaviour overnight had notbeen all that could have been desired. He had not actually been brutal,perhaps, but he had undoubtedly not been winning. There had been anabruptness in the manner of his leaving Sally at the Flower Garden whicha perfect lover ought not to have shown. He had allowed his nerves toget the better of him, and now he desired to make amends. Hence acheerfulness which he did not usually exhibit so early in the morning.

　　Sally was staring at him blankly. She had completely forgotten that hehad said that he would come and take her for a drive this morning. Shesearched in her mind for words, and found none. And, as Mr. Carmyle wasdebating within himself whether to kiss her now or wait for a moresuitable moment, embarrassment came upon them both like a fog, and thegenial smile faded from his face as if the motive-power behind it hadsuddenly failed.

　　"I've--er--got the car outside, and..."At this point speech failed Mr. Carmyle, for, even as he began thesentence, the door that led to the bathroom opened and Gerald Fostercame out. Mr. Carmyle gaped at Gerald: Gerald gaped at Mr. Carmyle.

　　The application of cold water to the face and head is an excellent thingon the morning after an imprudent night, but as a tonic it only goespart of the way. In the case of Gerald Foster, which was an extremelyserious and aggravated case, it had gone hardly any way at all. Theperson unknown who had been driving red-hot rivets into the base ofGerald Foster's skull ever since the moment of his awakening was stillbusily engaged on that task. He gazed at Mr. Carmyle wanly.

　　Bruce Carmyle drew in his breath with a sharp hiss, and stood rigid.

　　His eyes, burning now with a grim light, flickered over Gerald's personand found nothing in it to entertain them. He saw a slouching figure inshirt-sleeves and the foundations of evening dress, a disgusting,degraded figure with pink eyes and a white face that needed a shave. Andall the doubts that had ever come to vex Mr. Carmyle's mind since hisfirst meeting with Sally became on the instant certainties. So UncleDonald had been right after all! This was the sort of girl she was!

　　At his elbow the stout phantom of Uncle Donald puffed with satisfaction.

　　"I told you so!" it said.

　　Sally had not moved. The situation was beyond her. Just as if this hadreally been the dream it seemed, she felt incapable of speech or action.

　　"So..." said Mr. Carmyle, becoming articulate, and allowed an impressiveaposiopesis to take the place of the rest of the speech. A cold fury hadgripped him. He pointed at Gerald, began to speak, found that he wasstuttering, and gulped back the words. In this supreme moment he was notgoing to have his dignity impaired by a stutter. He gulped and found asentence which, while brief enough to insure against this disaster, wassufficiently long to express his meaning.

　　"Get out!" he said.

　　Gerald Foster had his dignity, too, and it seemed to him that the timehad come to assert it. But he also had a most excruciating headache, andwhen he drew himself up haughtily to ask Mr. Carmyle what the devil hemeant by it, a severe access of pain sent him huddling back immediatelyto a safer attitude. He clasped his forehead and groaned.

　　"Get out!"For a moment Gerald hesitated. Then another sudden shooting spasmconvinced him that no profit or pleasure was to be derived from acontinuance of the argument, and he began to shamble slowly across tothe door. Bruce Carmyle watched him go with twitching hands. There was amoment when the human man in him, somewhat atrophied from long disuse,stirred him almost to the point of assault; then dignity whispered moreprudent counsel in his ear, and Gerald was past the danger-zone and outin the passage. Mr. Carmyle turned to face Sally, as King Arthur on asimilar but less impressive occasion must have turned to deal withGuinevere.

　　"So..." he said again.

　　Sally was eyeing him steadily--considering the circumstances, Mr.

　　Carmyle thought with not a little indignation, much too steadily.

　　"This," he said ponderously, "is very amusing."He waited for her to speak, but she said nothing.

　　"I might have expected it," said Mr. Carmyle with a bitter laugh.

　　Sally forced herself from the lethargy which was gripping her.

　　"Would you like me to explain?" she said.

　　"There can be no explanation," said Mr. Carmyle coldly.

　　"Very well," said Sally.

　　There was a pause.

　　"Good-bye," said Bruce Carmyle.

　　"Good-bye," said Sally.

　　Mr. Carmyle walked to the door. There he stopped for an instant andglanced back at her. Sally had walked to the window and was looking out.

　　For one swift instant something about her trim little figure and thegleam of her hair where the sunlight shone on it seemed to catch atBruce Carmyle's heart, and he wavered. But the next moment he was strongagain, and the door had closed behind him with a resolute bang.

　　Out in the street, climbing into his car, he looked up involuntarily tosee if she was still there, but she had gone. As the car, gatheringspeed, hummed down the street. Sally was at the telephone listening tothe sleepy voice of Ginger Kemp, which, as he became aware who it wasthat had woken him from his rest and what she had to say to him,magically lost its sleepiness and took on a note of riotous ecstasy.

　　Five minutes later, Ginger was splashing in his bath, singing discordantly.