e resolved to add a
word of warning upon the handling of that subject. But more thought
encouraged her to be silent. There was that in Sally's bearing which
gave Mrs. Perce to understand that in the long run Sally knew what she
was about. Mrs. Perce was conscious of a smart feeling of admiration for
this child.

xi

Clasping tightly the precious henna and her other purchases, Sally
hurried home through the dark streets. Within her blouse was the letter
to Madame Gala. Her head was full of her plans, her delighted
anticipations of victory. For this moment she could not contemplate the
possibility that all would not go well. She was intoxicated. Her heart
was swelling. Thoughts galloped away, like steam from a boiling kettle.
She kept no memory of them. It was enough for her that she was thrilled
with her own prospects. Of course Mrs. Perce's friend would take her on.
Of course Toby would fall in love with her. She could make him. Once let
her achieve her immediate objects, and there was no end to future
possibilities. How strange, how wonderful, the difference which the last
few hours had made to her! It really seemed true for once that in the
darkest hour dawn was most nearly at hand. She let herself into the
house and crept up the stairs, subdued but exultant. It would now have
taken much more than the coldness and darkness of the horrible room to
spoil her excited happiness. She even welcomed them, because if her
mother awoke there would be the less need for explanations. She stood a
candle upon the washstand, screened from the bed, and lighted the oil
stove which they always used for preparing the breakfast. Her purchases
were carefully arrayed, and then hidden. She removed her outer clothes,
and let down her hair, shivering slightly, but tense with resolve and
the absorption of the moment. Round her shoulders she hung a big towel,
and kicked it out, looking down at her legs and feet. She was conscious
of pride, of physical freedom. She made small dancing steps, as happy as
a child, while she waited and waited for the slow kettle to boil.

Later, Sally stole to bed, careful not to touch her sleeping mother,
lest her own chill body should awaken her and provoke a querulous scene.
She was shuddering from head to foot. It seemed to take hours to shake
off the frozen feeling, and if she raised her feet and touched them with
her hands they were like pieces of ice. They were still cold when she
forgot everything; and