4
"Good Lord, I say, what ho!" cried Ginger. "Fancy meeting you here.
What a bit of luck!" He glanced over his shoulder warily. "Has that
blighter pipped?"
"Pipped?"
"Popped," explained Ginger. "I mean to say, he isn't coming back or any
rot like that, is he?"
"Mr. Carmyle? No, he has gone."
"Sound egg!" said Ginger with satisfaction. "For a moment, when I saw
you yarning away together, I thought he might be with your party. What
on earth is he doing over here at all, confound him? He's got all Europe
to play about in, why should he come infesting New York? I say, it
really is ripping, seeing you again. It seems years... Of course, one
get's a certain amount of satisfaction writing letters, but it's not the
same. Besides, I write such rotten letters. I say, this really is rather
priceless. Can't I get you something? A cup of coffee, I mean, or an egg
or something? By jove! this really is top-hole."
His homely, honest face glowed with pleasure, and it seemed to Sally as
though she had come out of a winter's night into a warm friendly room.
Her mercurial spirits soared.
"Oh, Ginger! If you knew what it's like seeing you!"
"No, really? Do you mean, honestly, you're braced?"
"I should say I am braced."
"Well, isn't that fine! I was afraid you might have forgotten me."
"Forgotten you!"
With something of the effect of a revelation it suddenly struck Sally
how far she had been from forgetting him, how large was the place he had
occupied in her thoughts.
"I've missed you dreadfully," she said, and felt the words inadequate as
she uttered them.
"What ho!" said Ginger, also internally condemning the poverty of speech
as a vehicle for conveying thought.
There was a brief silence. The first exhilaration of the reunion over,
Sally deep down in her heart was aware of a troubled feeling as though
the world were out of joint. She forced herself to ignore it, but it
would not be ignored. It grew. Dimly she was beginning to realize what
Ginger meant to her, and she fought to keep herself from realizing it.
Strange things were happening to her to-night, strange emotions stirring
her. Ginger seemed somehow different, as if she were really seeing him
for the first time.
"You're looking wonderfully well," she said trying to keep the
conversation on a pedestrian level.
"I am well," said Ginger. "Never felt fitter in my life. Been out in
the open all day long... simple life and all that... working like
blazes. I say, business is booming. Did you see me just now, handing
over Percy the Pup to what's-his-name? Five hundred dollars on that one
deal. Got the cheque in my pocket. But what an extraordinarily rummy
thing that I should have come to this place to deliver the goods just
when you happened to be here. I couldn't believe my eyes at first. I
say, I hope the people you're with won't think I'm butting in. You'll
have to explain that we're old pals and that you started me in business
and all that sort of thing. Look here," he said lowering his voice, "I
know how you hate being thanked, but I simply must say how terrifically
decent..."
"Miss Nicholas."
Lee Schoenstein was standing at the table, and by his side an expectant
youth with a small moustache and pince-nez. Sally got up, and the next
moment Ginger was alone, gaping perplexedly after her as she vanished
and reappeared in the jogging throng on the dancing floor. It was the
nearest thing Ginger had seen to a conjuring trick, and at that moment
he was ill-attuned to conjuring tricks. He brooded, fuming, at what
seemed to him the supremest exhibition of pure cheek, of monumental
nerve, and of undiluted crust that had ever come within his notice. To
come and charge into a private conversation like that and whisk her away
without a word...
"Who was that blighter?" he demanded with heat, when the music ceased
and Sally limped back.
"That was Mr. Schoenstein."
"And who was the other?"
"The one I danced with? I don't know."
"You don't know?"
Sally perceived that the conversation had arrived at an embarrassing
point. There was nothing for it but candour.
"Ginger," she said, "you remember my telling you when we first met that
I used to dance in a Broadway place? This is the place. I'm working
again."
Complete unintelligence showed itself on Ginger's every feature.
"I don't understand," he said--unnecessarily, for his face revealed the
fact.
"I've got my old job back."
"But why?"
"Well, I had to do something." She went on rapidly. Already a light
dimly resembling the light of understanding was beginning to appear in
Ginger's eyes. "Fillmore went smash, you know--it wasn't his fault, poor
dear. He had the worst kind of luck--and most of my money was tied up in
his business, so you see..."
She broke off confused by the look in his eyes, conscious of an absurd
feeling of guilt. There was amazement in that look and a sort of
incredulous horror.
"Do you mean to say..." Ginger gulped and started again. "Do you mean
to tell me that you let me have... all that money... for the
dog-business... when you were broke? Do you mean to say..."
Sally stole a glance at his crimson face and looked away again quickly.
There was an electric silence.
"Look here," exploded Ginger with sudden violence, "you've got to marry
me. You've jolly well got to marry me! I don't mean that," he added
quickly. "I mean to say I know you're going to marry whoever you
please... but won't you marry me? Sally, for God's sake have a dash at
it! I've been keeping it in all this time because it seemed rather
rotten to bother you about it, but now... .Oh, dammit, I wish I could
put it into words. I always was rotten at talking. But... well, look
here, what I mean is, I know I'm not much of a chap, but it seems to me
you must care for me a bit to do a thing like that for a fellow...
and... I've loved you like the dickens ever since I met you... I do wish
you'd have a stab at it, Sally. At least I could look after you, you
know, and all that... I mean to say, work like the deuce and try to give
you a good time... I'm not such an ass as to think a girl like you could
ever really... er... love a blighter like me, but..."
Sally laid her hand oh his.
"Ginger, dear," she said, "I do love you. I ought to have known it all
along, but I seem to be understanding myself to-night for the first
time." She got up and bent over him for a swift moment, whispering in
his ear, "I shall never love anyone but you, Ginger. Will you try to
remember that." She was moving away, but he caught at her arm and
stopped her.
"Sally..."
She pulled her arm away, her face working as she fought against the
tears that would not keep back.
"I've made a fool of myself," she said. "Ginger, your cousin... Mr.
Carmyle... just now he asked me to marry him, and I said I would."
She was gone, flitting among the tables like some wild creature running
to its home: and Ginger, motionless, watched her go.
