Chapter Twenty-Seven

Sally’s Secret

The next morning was fine and sunny. Sally came dancing in to see Barbara with a copy of the Daily Gazette in her hand.

“Look,” she cried, “look, Barbara! John Smith has written a new book. It’s coming out next week. Oh, I am excited about it, aren’t you, Barbara? I wonder what he’s written about this time. It’s called The Pen is Mightier—. Doesn’t it sound thrilling? No pen could be mightier than John Smith’s, could it?”

Barbara tried hard to register surprise; she decided that she was not a born actress. Fortunately Sally was too full of her great news to notice Barbara’s attempts. She did not wait for answers to her various questions. Sally rarely expected answers to her questions, and Barbara knew her well enough now not to bother about finding any. By the time you had found an adequate answer Sally had flitted on to something quite different.

“Gran rang up Mrs. Featherstone Hogg,” continued Sally delightedly. “She shut the door of the library so that I shouldn’t hear what she was saying, but she was so excited and talked so loud, that I heard quite clearly in the hall. They are both ordering copies of it to be sent to them the moment it comes out. They hope it will give them some clue to John Smith. Are you ordering a copy, Barbara? You had better do it soon. The first edition will be sold out directly. Will you lend me your copy to read if Gran sits on hers? Oh, I do think John Smith is marvelous!”

“You’re going to marry him, aren’t you?” inquired Barbara wickedly.

“Oh, that was just my nonsense,” said Sally, actually blushing, “you mustn’t take all I say for gospel truth, Barbara dear. When I’m excited I just gas on, and say all sorts of rubbish. How could I possibly want to marry a man I’ve never even seen?”

“It does seem impossible. But of course you know exactly what he’s like, and that makes a lot of difference. Big and strong—isn’t he—with a humorous mouth and piercing eyes and long tousled hair—”

“You’re teasing me now. What a horrid person you are! Do be good, Barbara, and I’ll tell you a secret. It’s a frightfully important secret too. I’m in love.”

“Not really? Not with John Smith?”

“Silly, it’s true. I’m engaged,” Sally said, fishing down the front of her jumper and displaying a ring set with diamonds. “Now will you believe it’s true?”

Barbara was forced to believe such indubitable evidence; she was suitably impressed.

“We’re going to be married directly I hear from Daddy. I’ve written to tell Daddy all about it. Oh Barbara, he’s a marvelous man!”

“I know. You always said he was.”

“Not Daddy (although of course he’s marvelous too). I mean Ernest’s marvelous—Mr. Hathaway, you know. Barbara, he’s too sweet for words. I adore him. Of course I’ve been in love before,” continued Sally, looking very wise and experienced, “but never the least like this—this is the real thing. We’re just waiting now for Daddy’s letter and then we’ll get married and live happily ever after.”

Barbara looked at her in distress. “Sally dear,” she said anxiously. “I don’t think your father will consent to your marrying Mr. Hathaway. He’s very nice, of course, but he’s so frightfully poor—what would you live on?”

“That’s just the amazing thing, my dear. He’s not poor at all. He’s written and told Daddy exactly how much he has, and it’s lots,” said Sally, opening her blue eyes very wide. “He gave away all his money for a whole year just to see what it was like to be poor. He’s so good, you know, Barbara. His ideals are so wonderful. I shall never be able to live up to Ernest’s ideals.”

“Of course you can if you try.”

“Yes, perhaps,” Sally agreed. “If I try very hard—but isn’t it wonderful, Barbara? Isn’t it just like a novel to fall in love with a poor man, and then find he’s rich beyond the dreams of avarice?”

Barbara agreed; she hugged Sally and told her how frightfully glad she was.

Sally was rather young of course, but she had seen more of the world than many older people and she was quite capable of managing her own life. Barbara had always thought Mr. Hathaway a nice young man—rather serious perhaps, but Sally would liven him up. It seemed very suitable, and she thought that Sally would be happy. She was in a condition of mind to believe that marriage was a desirable state.

“And you’ll come to the wedding, won’t you, Barbara?” Sally said, disengaging herself from Barbara’s embrace.

“If Barbara Buncle still exists, Barbara Buncle will be there,” replied that lady. (And that’s really rather clever of me, she thought, because I shan’t be Barbara Buncle anymore; I shall be Barbara Abbott. It’s a pity I shan’t be at the wedding of course, but I can’t be, so it’s no use thinking about it.)

Sally’s news was really astounding; she could hardly believe it was true. She wished she had known about it before so that she could have put it all into The Pen is Mightier—. It would have added considerable interest to the story of Mr. Shakeshaft if she had married him off to his pupil—just like Swift and Stella, Barbara thought regretfully. There might even have been a double wedding at St. Agatha’s. No, the wedding was Elizabeth’s and Elizabeth’s alone. It would never have done to filch any of the glory from Elizabeth; but the story about Mr. Shakeshaft being a rich man after all—a sort of prince in disguise—was a distinct loss to The Pen is Mightier—. Why didn’t I think of it? sighed Barbara. I have no imagination at all. It would have finished off Mr. Shakeshaft so happily and made Mrs. Myrtle Coates look even more of a fool. It is, of course, the obvious end, only I was too blind and stupid to see it.

“What are you thinking about, Barbara?” demanded Sally.

“I’m wishing I had a little imagination,” replied Barbara. She was always truthful when it was possible so to be.

“Never mind, old thing! We can’t all be John Smiths,” said Sally, squeezing her arm affectionately.