“That’s what you say,” Jenny protested.  Alf took no notice of her interruption.  He doggedly proceeded.

“As I say, Em’s all right enough.  No fault to find with her.  But she’s not you.  And it’s you I wanted.  Now, if I take her—­”

“You’ll enjoy it very much,” she weakly asserted.  “Ever so much.  Besides, Alf,”—­she began to appeal to him, in an attempt to wheedle—­“Em’s a real good sort....  You don’t know half the things ...”

“I know all about Em.  I don’t need you to tell me what she is.  I can see for myself.”  Alf rocked a little with an ominous obstinacy.  His eyes were fixed upon her with an unwinking stare.  It was as though, having delivered a blow with the full weight of party bias, he were desiring her to take a common-sense view of a vehement political issue.

“What can you see?” With a feeble dash of spirit, Jenny had attempted tactical flight.  The sense of it made her feel as she had done, as a little girl, in playing touch; when, with a swerve, she had striven to elude the pursuer.  So tense were her nerves on such occasions that she turned what is called “goosey” with the feel of the evaded fingers.

Alf rolled his head again, slightly losing his temper at the inconvenient question, which, if he had tried to answer it, might have diverted him from the stern chase upon which he was engaged.  The sense of that made him doubly resolved upon sticking to the point.

“Oh, never you mind,” he said, stubbornly.  “Quite enough of that.  Now the question is—­and it’s a fair one,—­why did you shove Em on to me!”

“I didn’t!  You did it yourself!”

“Well, that’s a flat lie!” he cried, slapping the table in a sudden fury, and glaring at her.  “That’s what that is.”

Jenny crimsoned.  It made the words no better that Alf had spoken truly.  She was deeply offended.  They were both now sparkling with temper, restless with it, and Jenny’s teeth showing.

“I’m 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!”