xx
On a bright morning about ten days later, Sally lay in bed watching her mother prepare the breakfast upon their oil stove. Although the year was in its last months it was still warm and sunny, and Mrs. Minto clambered about the room half-dressed, with her grey hair hanging behind in ragged tails. With her bodice off she looked more than ever meagre, her thin face sharper and greyer than of old, and her movements more uncertain. As Sally watched her mother she realised that the unsightly walls and battered furniture were just of a piece with the creeping figure. What she did not understand was that Mrs. Minto was so used to the furniture, which she had known during the whole of her married life, that she did not recognise its dilapidation. But Sally had no time for thought of her mother. She was excited. Her tongue came out between her teeth, and she looked at the ceiling. At last, in a laconic voice, she said:
"Ma!" Mrs. Minto glanced wearily at her. Sally considered her speech with a further smile, so that Mrs. Minto became irritated, and went on with her preparations in a rather indignant way. "Ma," resumed Sally, relishingly, "I shan't be home to-night."
Mrs. Minto started. She became instantly alert.
"Oh yes you will, my girl," she cried sternly. "None o' that!"
"Yes, I shan't be home to-night," repeated Sally. "Nor to-morrow night, either."
Mrs. Minto left her work and came to the bedside. She was like a snarling bitch, savage over her threatened young.
"Sally!" she exclaimed, in a rough voice. "What you doing! What d'you mean? Of course you'll be home. You're not going to play any tricks with me, my gel."
"I shan't be coming home," continued Sally. "Not ever. I'm getting married to-day."
Mrs. Minto sat down upon the bed.