Introduction to Sally

by Elizabeth Von Arnim

Yes, she thought, the status quo ante was indeed restored, and everything was going to be as it used to be. The only difference was Salvatia.

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Before a week was over Mrs. Luke left out the word ‘only’ from this sentence, and was inclined to say—again with Wordsworth; curious how that, surely antiquated, poet cropped up—But oh, the difference, instead. Salvatia was—well, why had one been given intelligence if not to cope, among other things, with what Salvatia was?

That first night of reunion with Jocelyn, Mrs. Luke had lain awake nearly all of it, making plans. Very necessary, very urgent it was to get them cut and dried by the morning. The headache she had had earlier in the evening vanished before the imperativeness of thinking and seeing clearly. Many things had to be thought out and decided, some of them sordid, such as the question of living now that there was another mouth to feed, and others difficult, such as the best line to take with South Winch in regard to Mr. Thorpe. She thought and thought, lying on her back, her hands clasped behind her head, staring into the darkness, frowning in her concentration.

Towards morning she saw that the line to take with South Winch about poor Edgar was precisely the line she had taken with Jocelyn: she had given up the hope of marriage, she would say, so as to be able to devote herself exclusively to her boy and his wife.

‘See,’ she would say, indicating Salvatia, careful at once to draw attention to what anyhow, directly the child began to speak, couldn’t remain unnoticed, ‘how this untrained, delicious baby needs me. No mother, no education, no idea of what the world demands—could I possibly, thinking only of myself, selfishly leave her without help and guidance? I do feel the young have a very great claim on us.’ And then she would add that as long as she lived she would never forget how well, how splendidly, Mr. Thorpe had behaved.

Pruned truth, again. And truth pruned, she was afraid, in a way that would cover her with laurels she hadn’t deserved. But what was she to do? One needs must find the easiest and best way out of a difficulty,—easiest and best for those one loves.

In order, however, to indicate Salvatia and explain things by means of her, Mrs. Luke would have to produce her, have to show her to South Winch, and in order to do that she would have to give a party. Yes; she would give a party, a tea-party, and invite every one she knew to it—except, of course, Mr. Thorpe.

Mrs. Luke had hitherto been sparing of parties, considering them not only difficult with one servant, and wastefully expensive, but also so very ordinary. Anybody not too positively poor could give tea-parties, and invite a lot of people and let them entertain each other. She chose the better way, which was to have one friend, at most two, at a time, and really talk, really exchange ideas, over a simple but attractive tea. Of course the friends had to have ideas, or one couldn’t exchange them. But now she would have a real party, with no ideas and many friends, the sort of party called an At Home, and at it Salvatia should be revealed to South Winch in all her wonder.

The party, however, couldn’t be given for at least a week, because of first having to drill Salvatia. A week wasn’t much; was, indeed, terribly little; but if the drill were intensive, Mrs. Luke thought she could get the child’s behaviour into sufficient shape to go on with by the end of it.