"Bigger than me," she murmured, brooding upon an unwelcome comparison.
"No. Not bigger. She's nearly three times as old as you. My father died, you see.... I was a child. She had to make a living. Had to."
"So have I got to," whispered Sally. "I got no father; and mother's in her second childhood."
Gaga stopped. He looked at her. A singular expression crossed his face.
"Now, you have to," he said. "Er, I mean.... Well, ... you won't always."
"Mean, I'll marry?" demanded Sally, sharply. "Give it all up to cook the dinner and wash the front step?" She shrugged again.
Gaga reddened slightly.
"I.... I didn't think you'd do that," he said, hesitatingly. "I only meant.... What I wanted to say ... mother's not well. She's ill. She's really ill. She'll have to take a holiday. I wonder...." His hesitation was more prolonged than usual. He became as it were lost in a kind of doubtful reverie. Sally could not tell whether he was thinking or whether the wheels of his mind had altogether ceased to revolve. His mouth gaped a little. At last he concluded: "I wonder if I could ... if I could borrow you from Miss Summers. If she'd mind. If she'd let you go."
There was a silence, while both thought of this possibility.
"Look here," cried Sally, confidently. "Like this evening, Miss Summers left me there—all alone. I mean to say, she didn't mind. She wouldn't leave any of the other girls like that; but she left me. She knew it was all right. Well, I wouldn't mind stopping in the evenings and helping you. I'd like to. I'm quick. I could get through a lot of work."