“Oh, blow!” Jenny impatiently ejaculated, with a sinking heart at the thought of any sequel.  A sequel there was bound to be—­however muffled.  It did not rest with her.  There were Emmy and Alf, both alike burning with the wish to avenge themselves—­upon her!  If only she could disappear—­just drop out altogether, like a man overboard at night in a storm; and leave Emmy and Alf to settle together their own trouble.  She couldn’t drop out; nobody could, without dying, though they might often wish to do so; and even then their bodies were the only things that were gone, because for a long time they stubbornly survived in memory.  No:  she couldn’t drop out.  There was no chance of it.  She was caught in the web of life; not alone, but a single small thing caught in the general mix-up of actions and inter-actions.  She had just to go on as she was doing, waking up each morning after the events and taking her old place in the world; and in this instance she would have, somehow, to smooth matters over when the excitements and agitations of the evening were past.  It would be terribly difficult.  She could not yet see a clear course.  If only Emmy didn’t live in the same house!  If only, by throwing Alf over as far as concerned herself, she could at the same time throw him into Emmy’s waiting arms.  Why couldn’t everybody be sensible?  If only they could all be sensible for half-an-hour everything could be arranged and happiness could be made real for each of them.  No:  misunderstandings were bound to come, angers and jealousies, conflicting desires, stupid suspicions....  Jenny fidgeted in her chair and eyed Pa with a sort of vicarious hostility.  Why, even that old man was a complication!  Nay, he was the worst thing of all!  But for him, she could drop out!  There was no getting away from him!  He was as much permanently there as the chair upon which he was drowsing.  She saw him as an incubus.  And then Emmy being so fussy!  Standing on her dignity when she’d give her soul for happiness!  And then Alf being so ...  What was Alf?  Well, Alf was stupid.  That was the word for Alf.  He was stupid.  As stupid as any stupid member of his immeasurably stupid sex could be!

“Great booby!” muttered Jenny.  Why, look at the way he had behaved when Emmy had come into the room.  It wasn’t honesty, mind you; because he could tell any old lie when he wanted to.  It was just funk.  He hadn’t known where to look, or what to say.  Too slow, he was, to think of anything.  What could you do with a man like that?  Oh, what stupids men were!  She expected that Alf would feel very fine and noble as he walked old Em along to the theatre—­and afterwards, when the evening was over and he had gone off in a cloud of glory.  He would think it all over and come solemnly to the conclusion that the reason for his mumbling stupidity, his toeing and heeling, and all that idiotic speechlessness that set Emmy on her hind legs, was sheer love of the truth.  He couldn’t tell a lie—­to a woman.