Sally felt strangely comforted by his attitude, although not very optimistic about the job. She sat by the fire and thought that, after all, these bothers were very trifling matters compared to the happiness of being married to Walter.
While she was sitting there thinking vaguely about him, there was a resounding peal on the front-door bell.
Sally remembered that the daily woman had gone home, and was half-considering whether she would sit still and pretend that everybody was out, when it occurred to her that it might be Walter, who was in the constant habit of losing his latch-key. The bell rang again, and this time Sally, almost mechanically, went to the door and opened it.
She was a little bit alarmed to see, standing in the passage, three tall bearded strangers, but was soon reassured by the unmistakably gloomy voice of Ralph Callendar which issued from behind one of the beards, and said:
‘Sally, dear, I hadn’t realized until this very moment that you are enceinte. How beautifully it suits you! Why had nobody told me?’
Sally laughed and led the way into the drawing-room. She now saw that the other men were Jasper Spengal and Julius Raynor, very efficiently disguised.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘but how could you tell? It’s really very exciting, due in April. Morris, if a boy, Minerva, if a girl, and we haven’t the slightest idea where she’s going to live (there’s no room here, as you know) or how we can afford to educate him. But Walter’s out now, looking for a job. Have a cocktail: Ralph dear, be an angel and make one; the things live in that chest. But why fancy dress so early in the evening, and why haven’t we been asked to the party?’
‘No, dear,’ said Ralph sadly, taking some bottles out of the chest. ‘Not fancy dress at all – disguise.’
‘Are you – not wanted by Scotland Yard for anything, I hope?’
‘No, dear, curiously enough. No; we are going, simply in order to please Jasper, to the Savoy Theatre, where we shall see a Gilbert and Sullivan operette, called – what is it called, Jasper?’
‘“I Gondolieri.”’
‘Yes, “I Gondolieri.” Jasper has a new philosophy, which is that one should experience everything pleasant and unpleasant, and says that nobody ought to die until they have seen one Gilbert and Sullivan operette and one Barrie play. Last night he begged us to accompany him on these grim errands, and after much talk, we allowed ourselves to be persuaded. But as it would be impossible to explain this to all the casual acquaintances whom we might meet at the theatre, we decided to take the precaution of a disguise.
‘It is one thing to see a Gilbert and Sullivan, and quite another to be seen at one. We have our unborn children to consider, not to mention our careers.
‘It has taken us nearly all day, but I think the result satisfactory. To complete the illusion we intend to limp about during the entr’acte. Jasper, as you see, has a slight hump on one shoulder, and Julius a snub nose.
‘I myself have not been obliged to go to such lengths. Nobody would ever suspect me. Even if I went undisguised, they would only say, “We didn’t know Ralph had a double.” Did you mention, Sally, that Walter is looking for a job?’
‘Yes, poor lamb, he is.’
‘He won’t find one, of course. But never mind, there are worse things than poverty, though I can’t for the moment remember what they are, and we’ll all take it in turns to keep the baby for you. A poet of Walter’s ability has no business with money troubles and jobs and nonsense like that. Are you very hard up at the moment, Sally?’
‘Yes, terribly, you know. We’ve got such debts and then our people simply can’t help. They give us more than they can afford as it is.’
‘Well, then, my dear, I’ll tell you what to do, straight away. Come and live with me till Christmas and let the flat to an American woman I know for twenty guineas a week. Would that help?’
‘Ralph, what an angel you are! But, of course, we can’t do that, and we’re not really so hard up, you know, only one likes a little grumble. Anyway, who would pay twenty guineas for a tiny flat like this? What are you doing?’
‘Hullo! Regent 3146,’ said Ralph into the telephone, his eyes on the ceiling. ‘Hullo! Mrs Swangard? Ralph here. Yes, I found you the very thing – a jewel, 65 Fitzroy Square. Belongs, you know, to the famous poet Monteath. Yes, I had the greatest difficulty … Oh, no, no trouble. I knew at once it would be the place for you. Heart of Bloomsbury … Oh, most fashionable, all the famous people … Yes, all round you, roaring away. What? I said “roaringly gay” … My dear, you’ll be astounded when I tell you … only twenty guineas! A week, not a day.
‘Wonderful, yes. Of course, they wouldn’t let it to just anybody, as you can imagine … No … As soon as you like – tomorrow if you like … Tomorrow, then … Yes, I’ll come round and see you about it after the play tonight … Yes, perfect … good-bye.’
‘Oh, Ralph!’ said Sally, almost in tears. ‘How sweet you are! That means more than a hundred pounds, doesn’t it, and almost at once? Think what a help it will be. That is, if she likes the flat; but perhaps she won’t?’
‘My dear, that woman will like just exactly what I tell her to like. So pack up and come round some time in the morning. There’s quite a good-sized bedroom you can have, if you don’t mind sharing my sitting-room. Oh, nonsense, darling, you’d do the same by me, as you know very well. The poor are always good to each other.
