Marriage to a gentleman—why, you never knew where you were from one moment to another; nothing settled about it; no cut and come again feeling; all ups and downs, without, as one might say, any middles; all either cross looks or, without warning, red ears, kisses, and oh-Sallyings. It was as if words weren’t the same when a gentleman got hold of them. They seemed somehow to separate. Queer, thought Sally, wistfully stroking the tin trunk.
She groped round in her hazy thoughts. She was in a strange country, and there was a fog, and yet she had somehow to get somewhere. She swearing?
§
The car came round, and Jocelyn came in.
‘Hasn’t Cupp turned up yet?’ he asked.
Sally shook her head.
‘I want him to help me cord the luggage on,’ said Jocelyn, squeezing past between her and the trunk.
‘I can,’ said Sally.
‘No you can’t,’ snapped Jocelyn, striding to the kitchen door and opening it.
‘Is Mr. Cupp anywhere about?’ he haughtily asked the figure bent over the saucepan. He needed his help, or nothing would have induced him to speak to Mrs. Cupp again.