Jenny’s eyes contracted.  She looked fixedly at her work.  Her hands continued busy.

“Well, you’re going to take Emmy, aren’t you!” she prevaricated.  “You asked her to go.”

“No!” he said.  “I’m going with her, because she’s said she’ll go.  But it was you that asked her.”

“Did I?  How could I?  They weren’t mine.  You’re a man.  You brought the tickets.  You asked her yourself.”  Jenny shook her head.  “Oh, no, Alf Rylett.  You mustn’t blame me.  Take my advice, my boy.  You be very glad Emmy’s going.  If you mean me, I should have said ‘No,’ because I’ve got to do this hat.  Emmy’s going to-night.  You’ll enjoy yourself far more.”

“Oh ——!” He did not use an oath, but it was implied.  “What did you do it for?  Didn’t you want to come yourself?  No, look here, Jenny:  I want to know what’s going on.  You’ve always come with me before.”  He glared at her in perplexity, puzzled to the depths of his intelligence by a problem beyond its range.  Women had always been reported to him as a mystery; but he had never heeded.

“It’s Emmy’s turn, then,” Jenny went on.  She could not resist the display of a sisterly magnanimity, although it was not the true magnanimity, and in fact had no relation to the truth.  “Poor old Em gets stuck in here day after day,” she pleaded.  “She’s always with Pa till he thinks she’s a fixture.  Well, why shouldn’t she have a little pleasure?  You get her some chocs ... at that shop. ... You know.  It’ll be the treat of her life.  She’ll be as grateful to you for it. ...  Oh, I’m very glad she’s got the chance of going.  It’ll keep her happy for days!” Jenny, trying with all her might to set the affair straight and satisfy everybody, was appealing to his vanity to salve his vanity.  Alf saw himself recorded as a public benefactor.  He perceived the true sublimity of altruism.

“Yes,” he said, doggedly, recovering himself and becoming a man, becoming Alf Rylett, once again.  “That’s all bally fine.  Sounds well as you put it; but you knew as well as I did that I came to take you.  I say nothing against Em.  She’s a good sort; but—­”

Jenny suddenly kindled.  He had never seen her so fine.

“She’s the best sort!” she said, with animation.  “And don’t you forget it, Alf.  Me—­why, I’m as selfish as ... as dirt beside her.  Look a little closer, my lad.  You’ll see Em’s worth two of me.  Any day!  You think yourself jolly lucky she’s going with you.  That’s all I’ve got to say to you!”

She had pushed her work back, and was looking up at him with an air of excitement.  She had really been moved by a generous impulse.  Her indifference to Alf no longer counted.  It was swept away by a feeling of loyalty to Emmy.  The tale she had told, the plea she had advanced upon Emmy’s behalf, if it had not influenced him, had sent a warm thrill of conviction through her own heart.  When she came thus to feel deeply she knew as if by instinct