"What does she say?" swiftly demanded Emmy.

"I forget.... Saying you had a rough time at home. Saying it was rough
on you. That you're one of the best...."

_"She_ said that?" gasped Emmy. "It's not like her to say that. Did she
really? She's so touchy about me, generally. Sometimes, the way she goes
on, anybody'd think I was the miserablest creature in the world, and
always on at her about something. I'm not, you know; only she thinks it.
Well, I can't help it, can I? If you knew how I have to work in that
house, you'd be... surprised. I'm always at it. The way the dirt comes
in--you'd wonder where it all came from! And see, there's Pa and all.
She doesn't take that into account. She gets on all right with him; but
she isn't there all day, like I am. That makes a difference, you know.
He's used to me. She's more of a change for him."

Alf was cordial in agreement. He was seeing all the difference between
the sisters. In his heart there still lingered a sort of cherished
enjoyment of Jenny's greater spirit. Secretly it delighted him, like a
forbidden joke. He felt that Jenny--for all that he must not, at this
moment, mention her name--kept him on the alert all the time, so that he
was ever in hazardous pursuit. There was something fascinating in such
excitement as she caused him. He never knew what she would do or say
next; and while that disturbed and distressed him it also lacerated his
vanity and provoked his admiration. He admired Jenny more than he could
ever admire Emmy. But he also saw Emmy as different from his old idea of
her. He had seen her trembling defiance early in the evening, and that
had moved him and made him a little afraid of her; he had also seen her
flushed cheeks at the theatre, and Emmy had grown in his eyes suddenly
younger. He could not have imagined her so cordial, so youthful, so
interested in everything that met her gaze. Finally, he found her
quieter, more amenable, more truly wifely than her sister. It was an
important point in Alf's eyes. You had to take into account--if you were
a man of common sense--relative circumstances. Devil was all very well
in courtship; but mischief in a girl became contrariness in a domestic
termagant. That was an idea that was very much in Alf's thoughts during
this walk, and it lingered there like acquired wisdom.

"Say she's going with a sailor!" he suddenly demanded.

"So she told me. I've never seen him. She doesn't tell lies, though."

"I thought y