y found the
spur for their unkind eloquence, and too often Pa was used as a
stalking-horse for their angers. He could hardly hear, and could not
follow the talk; but by directing a remark to him, so that it cannoned
off at the other, each obtained satisfaction for the rivalry that
endured from day to day between them. Their hungry hearts, all the
latent bitternesses in their natures, yearning for expression, found it
in his presence. But alone, whatever their angers, they were generally
silent. It may have been that their love was strong, or that their
courage failed, or that the energy required for conflict was not
aroused. That they deeply loved one another was sure; there was rivalry,
jealousy, irritation between them, but it did not affect their love.
The jealousy was a part of their general discontent--a jealousy that
would grow more intense as each remained frustrate and unhappy. Neither
understood the forces at work within herself; each saw these perversely
illustrated in the other's faults. In each case the cause of unhappiness
was unsatisfied love, unsatisfied craving for love. It was more acute in
Emmy's case, because she was older and because the love she needed was
under her eyes being wasted upon Jenny--if it were love, and not that
mixture of admiration and desire with self-esteem that goes to make the
common formula to which the name of love is generally attached. Jenny
could not be jealous of Emmy as Emmy was jealous of Jenny. She had no
cause; Emmy was not her rival. Jenny's rival was life itself, as will be
shown hereafter: she had her own pain.

It was thus only natural that the two girls, having pushed Pa's chair to
the side of the kitchen fire, and having loaded and set light to Pa's
pipe, should work together in silence for a few minutes, clearing the
table and washing the supper dishes. They were distant, both aggrieved;
Emmy with labouring breath and a sense of bitter animosity, Jenny with
the curled lip of one triumphant who does not need her triumph and would
abandon it at the first move of forgiveness. They could not speak. The
work was done, and Emmy was rinsing the washing basin, before Jenny
could bring herself to say awkwardly what she had in her mind.

"Em," she began. "I didn't know you ... you know." A silence. Emmy
continued to swirl the water round with the small washing-mop, her face
averted. Jenny's lip stiffened. She made another attempt, to be the
last, restraining her irritation