oom behind the parlour. Here
were the big cutting-out table, the treadled sewing machine, three or
four chairs, many fragments of material, several half-made garments,
and, upon the walls, a number of coloured prints from fashion papers. In
such surroundings Sally spent her days. She ate her lunch at twelve
o'clock, and had her tea at four. And as her fingers worked, or her feet
occasionally by special permission propelled the sewing machine, she
thought of the future and planned to get into the West End.

It was the West End that now lured her. If only she could get into the
West End all her troubles would be wiped away at once, she felt. She
could possibly make more money there; but even if she did not succeed in
that aim she would still be in the running for better work. That she
could do better work she never doubted. And she knew that as long as she
was with Miss Jubb she would never do anything at all. Some instinct
told her that. She knew it. She knew it as clearly as if she had
surveyed the future from above. It was not that she was suddenly wise;
but only that ambition had come into her consciousness. The blow she had
received by her father's death had struck deep into her character. She
had now to make something of her life, or starve. With a quick circle of
thought she imagined her mother dead. What would happen then? What
chance had she? Only vaguely did Sally glimpse the possibilities. She
knew she could not keep herself. She had one aunt--her mother's
sister--with two boy children who were both younger than Sally; but Aunt
Emmy had a rough time herself, and could hardly be a help. Sally saw
clearly enough that she had to fight alone. Very well, if she had to
fight alone she would do it, and fight hard. As she scowled, it became
evident that Sally would in this fight unscrupulously use every weapon
that she could seize. She would not shrink from anything that put
opportunity into her head. She was already hardened--a kind of hardening
on the surface, or in strata, which left curious soft places in her
nature, streaks of good and layers and patches of armour and grit and
callous cruelty. Above all, she was determined upon having money. Money
was the essential thing. Money meant safety. And safety, when starvation
threatens, becomes the one imperious if ignominious ideal. Once one has
known physical hunger, no act is inconceivable as a means of averting
the risk of a similar experience.

Thus Sally's thought