a liar, am I!" she exclaimed. "Well, you can just lump it, then.
I shan't say another word. Not if you call me a liar. You've come
here ..." Her breath caught, and for a second she could not speak.
"You've come here _kindly_ to let us lick your boots, I suppose. Is that
it? Well, we're not going to do it. We never have, and we never will.
Never! It's a drop for you, you think, to take Emmy out. A bit of
kindness on your part. She's not up to West End style. That it? But you
needn't think you're too good for her. There's no reason, I'm sure.
You're not!... All because you're a man. Auch! I'm sick of the men! You
think you've only got to whistle. Yes, you do! You think if you crook
your little finger.... Oh no, my lad. That's where you're wrong. You're
making a big mistake there. We can look after ourselves, thank you! No
chasing after the men! Pa's taught us that. We're not quite alone. We
haven't got to take--we've neither of us got to take--whatever's offered
to us ... as you think. We've got Pa still!"

Her voice had risen. An unexpected interruption stopped the argument for
the merest fraction of time.

"Aye," said Pa. "They've got their old Pa!" He had taken his pipe out of
his mouth and was looking towards the combatants with an eye that for
one instant seemed the eye of perfect comprehension. It frightened Jenny
as much as it disconcerted Alf. It was to both of them, but especially
to Alf, like the shock of a cold sponge laid upon a heated brow.

"I never said you hadn't!" he sulkily said, and turned round to look
amazedly at Pa. But Pa had subsided once more, and was drinking with
mournful avidity from his tankard. Occupied with the tankard, Pa had
neither eye nor thought for anything else. Alf resumed after the baffled
pause. "Yes. You've got him all right enough...." Then: "You're trying
to turn it off with your monkey tricks!" he said suddenly. "But I see
what it is. I was a fool not to spot it at once. You've got some other
fellow in tow. I'm not good enough for you any longer. Got no use for me
yourself; but you don't mind turning me over to old Em...." He shook his
head. "Well, I don't understand it," he concluded miserably. "I used to
think you was straight, Jen."

"I am!" It was a desperate cry, from her heart. Alf sighed.

"You're not playing the game, Jen old girl," he said, more kindly, more
thoughtfully. "That's what's the matter. I don't know what it is, or
what you're driving at; but that's what