‘Sally—oh, my darling! Oh, Sally—oh, oh, Sally!’ cried Jocelyn, raining kisses on her between each word. ‘How could you—why did you—oh, yes—I know, I know—I’ve been a beast to you—but I’m not going to be any more—I swear, I swear——’
‘Now don’t, Mr Luke,’ Sally managed to say, stifled though she was, ‘don’t get swearin’ about it——’
And pulling her head away from him she was able to attend to the proprieties, and introduce him.
‘My ’usband,’ introduced Sally, looking over his arm, which was round her neck, at the old man beside her. ‘The Jewk,’ she said, turning her face back to Jocelyn, who took no notice of the introduction, who didn’t indeed hear, because the moment she turned her face—oh, her divine, divine little face!—back to him, he fell to kissing it again.
And Laura, coming panting up just then, got up on the step on the other side of the car, and shouted in her father’s ear, who could always hear everything she said, ‘This is Jocelyn Luke, Father—Sally’s husband.’
And the Duke said, ‘I thought it must be.’
XVI
§
Now the end of this story, which is only the very beginning of Sally, the merest introduction to her, for it isn’t to be supposed that nothing more happened in her life,—the end of it is that she did as she was told about Crippenham, and if the Duke had been less than ninety-three there would have been a scandal.
But after ninety there is little scandal. The worst that was said of the Lukes was that they had got hold of the old man, and nobody who saw Sally believed that. Indeed, the instant anyone set eyes on her the Duke’s behaviour was accounted for, and after five minutes in her company it became crystal clear that she was incapable of getting hold of anybody. So young, so shy, so acquiescent,—absurd to suppose she ever had such a thing as an ulterior motive. And the husband, too; impossible to imagine that silent scholar, also so young, and rather shy too, or else very sulky,—impossible to imagine him plotting. On the contrary, he didn’t seem to like what had happened to him much, and showed no signs whatever either of pleasure or gratitude. But of Jocelyn no one thought long. He was without interest for the great world. He was merely an obscure young man at Cambridge, somebody the Duke’s amazing beauty had married.