se, at one
time freely used as an irresistible quip (like "There's hair" or "That's
all right, tell your mother; it'll be ninepence") by which one suggested
disaster--"And that spoilt his evening." The phrase was in his mind,
horrible to feel. Yet what could he have done in face of the direct
assault? "_Must_ be a gentleman." He could hardly have said, before
Emmy: "No, it's _you_ I want!" He began to think about Emmy. She was all
right--a quiet little piece, and all that. But she hadn't got Jenny's
cheek! That was it! Jenny had got the devil's own cheek, and this was an
example of it. But this was an unwelcome example of it. He ruminated
still further; until he found he was standing on one foot and rubbing
the back of his head, just like any stage booby.

"Oh, damn!" he cried, putting his raised foot firmly on the ground and
bringing his wandering fist down hard into the open palm of his other
hand.

"Here, here!" protested Jenny, pretending to be scandalised. "That's not
the sort of language to use before Pa! He's not used to it. We're
_awfully_ careful what we say when Pa's here!"

"You're making a fool of me!" spluttered Alf, glaring at her. "That's
about the size of it!"

"What about your pa and ma!" she inquired, gibing at him. "I've done
nothing. Why don't you sit down. Of course you feel a fool, standing. I
always do, when the manager sends for me. Think I'm going to get the
sack." She thought he was going to bellow at her: "I hear they want
more!" The mere notion of it made her smile, and Alf imagined that she
was still laughing at her own manoeuvre or at her impertinent jest.

"What did you do it for?" he asked, coming to the table.

"Cause it was all floppy. What did you think? Why, the girls all talk
about me wearing it so long."

"I'm not talking about that," he said, in a new voice of exasperated
determination. "You know what I'm talking about. Oh, yes, you do! I'm
talking about those tickets. And me. And you!"

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