Jenny came, gave him a big kiss, and went back to the kitchen, where she resumed work upon her hat.  It had lost its interest for her.  She stitched quickly and roughly, not as one interested in needlework or careful for its own sake of the regularity of the stitch.  Ordinarily she was accurate:  to-night her attention was elsewhere.  It had come back to the rows, because there is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it ever so much more important than it really is.  Loneliness with happy thoughts is perhaps an ideal state; but no torment could be greater than loneliness with thoughts that wound.  Jenny’s thoughts wounded her.  The mood of complacency was gone:  that of shame and discontent was upon her.  Distress was uppermost in her mind—­not the petulant wriggling of a spoilt child, but the sober consciousness of pain in herself and in others.  In vain did Jenny give little gasps of annoyance, intended by her humour to disperse the clouds.  The gasps and exclamations were unavailing.  She was angry, chagrined, miserable. ...At last she could bear the tension no longer, but threw down her work, rose, and walked impatiently about the kitchen.

“Oh, do shut up!” she cried to her insistent thoughts.  “Enough to drive anybody off their nut.  And they’re not worth it, either of them.  Em’s as stupid as she can be, thinking about herself....  And as for Alf—­anybody’d think I’d tricked him.  I haven’t.  I’ve gone out with him; but what’s that?  Lots of girls go out with fellows for months, and nobody expects them to marry.  The girls may want it; but the fellows don’t.  They don’t want to get settled down.  And I don’t blame them.  Why is Alf different?  I suppose it’s me that’s different.  I’m not like other girls....”  That notion cheered her.  “No:  I’m not like other girls.  I want my bit of fun.  I’ve never had any.  And just because I don’t want to settle down and have a lot of kids that mess the place to bits, of course I get hold of Alf!  It’s too bad!  Why can’t he choose the right sort of girl?  Why can’t he choose old Em?  She’s the sort that does want to get settled.  She knows she’ll have to buck up about it, too.  She said I should get left.  That’s what she’s afraid of, herself; only she’s afraid of getting left on the shelf....  I wonder why it is the marrying men don’t get hold of the marrying girls!  They do, sometimes, I suppose....”  Jenny shrugged restlessly and stood looking at nothing.  “Oh, it’s sickening!  You can’t do anything you like in this world.  Nothing at all!  You’ve always got to do what you don’t like.  They say it’s good for you.  It’s your ‘duty.’  Who to?  And who are ‘they,’ to say such a thing?  What are they after?  Just to keep people like me in their place—­do as you’re told.  Well, I’m not going to do as I’m told.  They can lump it!  That’s what they can do.  What does it matter—­what happens to me?  I’m me, aren’t I?  Got a right to live, haven’t I?  Why should I