“And lost him!” Jenny cried.

“Are you sure of him now?” asked Emmy swiftly.  “If he’s gone again.”

With her cheeks crimson, Jenny turned upon her sister.

“Yes, I’m sure of him.  And I love him.  I love him as much as you love Alf.”  She had the impulse, almost irresistible, to add “More!” but she restrained her tongue just in time.  That was a possibility Emmy could never admit.  It was only that they were different.

“But to leave Pa!” Emmy’s bewildered mind went back to what was the real difficulty.  Jenny protested.

“He was in bed.  I thought he’d be safe.  He was tucked up.  Supposing I hadn’t gone.  Supposing I’d gone up to bed an hour ago.  Still he’d have done the same.”

“You know he wouldn’t,” Emmy said, very quietly.  Jenny felt a wave of hysteria pass through her.  It died down.  She held herself very firmly.  It was true.  She knew that she was only defending herself.

“I don’t know,” she said, in a false, aggrieved voice.  “How do I know?”

“You do.  He knew you were out.  He very likely woke up and felt frightened.”

“Felt thirsty, more like it!” Jenny exclaimed.

“Well, you did wrong,” Emmy said.  “However you like to put it to yourself, you did wrong.”

“I always manage to.  Don’t I!” Jenny’s speech still was without defiance.  She was humble.  “It’s a funny thing; but it’s true....”

“You always want to go your own way,” Emmy reproved.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s wrong!” hastily said Jenny.  “Why should you go anybody else’s way?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Emmy.  “But it’s safer.”

“Whose way do you go?” Jenny had stumbled upon a question so unanswerable that she was at liberty to answer it for herself.  “I don’t know whose way you go now; but I do know whose way you’ll go soon.  You’ll go Alf’s way.”

“Well?” demanded Emmy.  “If it’s a good way?”

“Well, I go Keith’s way!” Jenny answered, in a fine glow.  “And he goes mine.”

Emmy looked at her, shaking her head in a kind of narrow wisdom.

“Not if he sends a chauffeur,” she said slowly.  “Not that sort of man.”

v

For a moment Jenny’s heart burned with indignation.  Then it turned cold.  If Emmy were right!  Supposing—­just supposing....  Savagely she thrust doubt of Keith from her:  her trust in him was forced by dread into still warmer and louder proclamation.

“You don’t understand!” she cried.  “You couldn’t.  You’ve never seen him.  Wait a minute!” She went quickly out of the kitchen and up to her bedroom.  There, secretly kept from every eye, was the little photograph of Keith.  She brought it down.  In anxious triumph she showed it to Emmy.  Emmy’s three years’ seniority had never been of so much account.  “There,” Jenny said.  “That’s Keith.  Look at him!”

Emmy held the photograph under the meagre light.  She was astonished, although she kept outwardly calm; because Keith—­besides being obviously what is called a gentleman—­looked honest and candid.  She could not find fault with the face.