i
After Emmy had hurried out of the room to change her dress, Alf stood,
still apparently stupefied at the unscrupulous rush of Jenny's feminine
tactics, rubbing his hand against the back of his head. He looked
cautiously at Pa Blanchard, and from him back to the mysterious unknown
who had so recently defeated his object. Alf may or may not have
prepared some kind of set speech of invitation on his way to the house.
Obviously it is a very difficult thing, where there are two girls in a
family, to invite one of them and not the other to an evening's orgy. If
it had not previously occurred to Alf to think of the difficulty quite
as clearly as he was now being made to do, that must have been because
he thought of Emmy as imbedded in domestic affairs. After all, damn it,
as he was thinking; if you want one girl it is rotten luck to be fobbed
off with another. Alf knew quite well the devastating phrase, at one
time freely used as an irresistible quip (like "There's hair" or "That's
all right, tell your mother; it'll be ninepence") by which one suggested
disaster--"And that spoilt his evening." The phrase was in his mind,
horrible to feel. Yet what could he have done in face of the direct
assault? "_Must_ be a gentleman." He could hardly have said, before
Emmy: "No, it's _you_ I want!" He began to think about Emmy. She was all
right--a quiet little piece, and all that. But she hadn't got Jenny's
cheek! That was it! Jenny had got the devil's own cheek, and this was an
example of it. But this was an unwelcome example of it. He ruminated
still further; until he found he was standing on one foot and rubbing
the back of his head, just like any stage booby.
"Oh, damn!" he cried, putting his raised foot firmly on the ground and
bringing his wandering fist down hard into the open palm of his other
hand.
"Here, here!" protested Jenny, pretending to be scandalised. "That's not
the sort of language to use before Pa! He's not used to it. We're
_awfully_ careful what we say when Pa's here!"
"You're making a fool of me!" spluttered Alf, glaring at her. "That's
about the size of it!"
"What about your pa and ma!" she inquired, gibing at him. "I've done
nothing. Why don't you sit down. Of course you feel a fool, standing. I
always do, when the manager sends for me. Think I'm going to get the
sack." She thought he was going to bellow at her: "I hear they want
more!" The mere notion of it made her smile, and Alf imagined that she
was still laughing at her own manoeuvre or at her impertinent jest.
"What did you do it for?" he asked, coming to the table.
"Cause it was all floppy. What did you think? Why, the girls all talk
about me wearing it so long."
"I'm not talking about that," he said, in a new voice of exasperated
determination. "You know what I'm talking about. Oh, yes, you do! I'm
talking about those tickets. And me. And you!"
Jenny's eyes contracted. She looked fixedly at her work. Her hands
continued busy.
"Well, you're going to take Emmy, aren't you!" she prevaricated. "You
asked her to go."
"No!" he said. "I'm going with her, because she's said she'll go. But it
was you that asked her."
"Did I? How could I? They weren't mine. You're a man. You brought the
tickets. You asked her yourself." Jenny shook her head. "Oh, no, Alf
Rylett. You mustn't blame me. Take my advice, my boy. You be very glad
Emmy's going. If you mean me, I should have said 'No,' because I've got
to do this hat. Emmy's going to-night. You'll enjoy yourself far more."
"Oh ----!" He did not use an oath, but it was implied. "What did you do
it for? Didn't you want to come yourself? No, look here, Jenny: I want
to know what's going on. You've always come with me before." He glared
at her in perplexity, puzzled to the depths of his intelligence by a
problem beyond its range. Women had always been reported to him as a
mystery; but he had never heeded.
"It's Emmy's turn, then," Jenny went on. She could not resist the
display of a sisterly magnanimity, although it was not the true
magnanimity, and in fact had no relation to the truth. "Poor old Em gets
stuck in here day after day," she pleaded. "She's always with Pa till he
thinks she's a fixture. Well, why shouldn't she have a little pleasure?
You get her some chocs ... at that shop. ... _You_ know. It'll be the
treat of her life. She'll be as grateful to you for it. ... Oh, I'm very
glad she's got the chance of going. It'll keep her happy for days!"
Jenny, trying with all her might to set the affair straight and satisfy
everybody, was appealing to his vanity to salve his vanity. Alf saw
himself recorded as a public benefactor. He perceived the true sublimity
of altruism.
"Yes," he said, doggedly, recovering himself and becoming a man,
becoming Alf Rylett, once again. "That's all bally fine. Sounds well as
you put it; but you knew as well as I did that I came to take _you_. I
say nothing against Em. She's a good sort; but--"
Jenny suddenly kindled. He had never seen her so fine.
"She's the best sort!" she said, with animation. "And don't you forget
it, Alf. Me--why, I'm as selfish as ... as _dirt_ beside her. Look a
little closer, my lad. You'll see Em's worth two of me. Any day! You
think yourself jolly lucky she's going with you. That's all I've got to
say to you!"
She had pushed her work back, and was looking up at him with an air of
excitement. She had really been moved by a generous impulse. Her
indifference to Alf no longer counted. It was swept away by a feeling of
loyalty to Emmy. The tale she had told, the plea she had advanced upon
Emmy's behalf, if it had not influenced him, had sent a warm thrill of
conviction through her own heart. When she came thus to feel deeply she
knew as if by instinct that Emmy, irritable unsatisfied Emmy, was as
much superior to Alf as she herself was superior to him. A wave of
arrogance swept her. Because he was a man, and therefore so delectable
in the lives of two lonely girls, he was basely sure of his power to
choose from among them at will. He had no such power at that moment, in
Jenny's mind. He was the clay, for Emmy or herself to mould to their own
advantage.
"You can think yourself _jolly_ lucky; my lad!" she repeated. "I can
tell you that much!"
ii
Jenny leant back in her chair exhausted by her excitement. Alf reached
round for the chair he had left, and brought it to the table. He sat
down, his elbows on the table and his hands clasped; and he looked
directly at Jenny as though he were determined to explode this false
bubble of misunderstanding which she was sedulously creating. As he
looked at her, with his face made keen by the strength of his resolve,
Jenny felt her heart turn to water. She was physically afraid of him,
not because he had any power to move her, but because in sheer
bullock-like strength he was too much for her, as in tenacity he had
equally an advantage. As a skirmisher, or in guerrilla warfare, in which
he might always retire to a hidden fastness, baffling pursuers by
innumerable ruses and doublings, Jenny could hold her own. On the plain,
in face of superior strength, she had not the solid force needed to
resist strong will and clear issues. Alf looked steadily at her, his
reddish cheeks more red, his obstinate mouth more obstinate, so that she
could imagine the bones of his jaws cracking with his determination.
"It won't do, Jen," he said. "And you know it."
Jenny wavered. Her eyes flinched from the necessary task of facing him
down. Where women of more breeding have immeasurable resources of
tradition behind them, to quell any such inquisition, she was by
training defenceless. She had plenty of pluck, plenty of adroitness; but
she could only play the sex game with Alf very crudely because he was
not fine enough to be diverted by such finesse as she could employ. All
Jenny could do was to play for safety in the passage of time. If she
could beat him off until Emmy returned she could be safe for to-night;
and if she were safe now--anything might happen another day to bring
about her liberation.
"Bullying won't do. I grant that," she retorted defiantly. "You needn't
think it will." She jerked her head.
"We're going to have this out," Alf went on. Jenny darted a look of
entreaty at the kicking clock which lay so helplessly upon its side. If
only the clock would come to her aid, forgetting the episode of the
tea-cosy!
"Take you all your time," she said swiftly. "Why, the theatre's all full
by now. The people are all in. They're tuning up for the overture. Look
at it!" She pointed a wavering finger at the clock.
"We're going to have this out--now!" repeated Alf. "You know why I
brought the tickets here. It was because I wanted to take _you_. It's no
good denying it. That's enough. Somehow--I don't know why--you don't
want to go; and while I'm not looking you shove old Em on to me."
"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!"
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's wrong. What's the matter with
me? Anything? I know I'm not much of a one to shout the odds about. I
don't expect you to do that. Never did. But I never played you a trick
like this. What is it? What's the game you think you're playing?" When
she did not answer his urgent and humble appeal he went on in another
tone: "I shall find out, mind you. It's not going to stop here. I shall
ask Emmy. I can trust her."
"You _can't_ ask her!" Jenny cried. It was wrung from her. "You just
dare to ask her. If she knew you hadn't meant to take her to-night, it
ud break her heart. It would. There!" Her voice had now the ring of
intense sincerity. She was not afraid, not defiant. She was a woman,
defending another woman's pride.
Alf groaned. His cheeks became less ruddy. He looked quickly at the
door, losing confidence.
"No: I don't know what it is," he said again. "I don't understand it."
He sat, biting his under lip, miserably undetermined. His grim front had
disappeared. He was, from the conquering hero, become a crestfallen
young man. He could not be passionate with Pa there. He felt that if
only she were in his arms she could not be untruthful, could not resist
him at all; but with the table between them she was safe from any
attack. He was powerless. And he could not say he loved her. He would
never be able to bring himself to say that to any woman. A woman might
ask him if he loved her, and he would awkwardly answer that of course he
did; but it was not in his nature to proclaim the fact in so many words.
He had not the fluency, the dramatic sense, the imaginative power to
sink and to forget his own self-consciousness. And so Jenny had won that
battle--not gloriously, but through the sheer mischance of
circumstances. Alf was beaten, and Jenny understood it.
"Don't _think_ about me," she whispered, in a quick pity. Alf still
shook his head, reproachfully eyeing her with the old bull-like concern.
"I'm not worth thinking about. I'm only a beast. And you say you can
trust Emmy.... She's ever so ..."
"Ah, but she can't make me mad like you do!" he said simply. "Jen, will
you come another night ... Do!" He was beseeching her, his hands
stretched towards her across the table, as near to making love as he
would ever be. It was his last faint hope for the changing of her heart
towards him. But Jenny slowly shook her head from side to side, a judge
refusing the prisoner's final desperate entreaties.
"No," she said. "It's no good, Alf. It'll never be any good as long as I
live."
iii
Alf put out his hand and covered Jenny's hand with it; and the hand he
held, after a swift movement, remained closely imprisoned. And just at
that moment, when the two were striving for mastery, the door opened and
Emmy came back into the room. She was fully dressed for going out, her
face charmingly set off by the hat she had offered earlier to Jenny, her
eyes alight with happiness, her whole bearing unutterably changed.
"_Now_ who's waiting!" she demanded; and at the extraordinary sight
before her she drew a quick breath, paling. It did not matter that the
clinging hands were instantly apart, or that Alf rose hurriedly to meet
her. "What's that?" she asked, in a trembling tone. "What are you
doing?" As though she felt sick and faint, she sat sharply down upon her
old chair near the door. Jenny rallied.
"Only a kid's game," she said. "Nothing at all." Alf said nothing,
looking at neither girl. Emmy tried to speak again; but at first the
words would not come. Finally she went on, with dreadful understanding.
"Didn't you want to take me, Alf? Did you want her to go?"
It was as though her short absence, perhaps even the change of costume,
had worked a curious and cognate change in her mind. Perhaps it was that
in her flushed happiness she had forgotten to be suspicious, or had
blindly misread the meanings of the earlier colloquy, as a result of
which the invitation had been given.
"Don't be so silly!" quickly cried Jenny. "Of course he wanted you to
go!"
"Alf!" Emmy's eyes were fixed upon him with a look of urgent entreaty.
She looked at Alf with all the love, all the extraordinary intimate
confidence with which women of her class do so generally regard the men
they love, ready to yield judgment itself to his decision. When he did
not answer, but stood still before them like a red-faced boy, staring
down at the floor, she seemed to shudder, and began despairingly to
unfasten the buttons of her thick coat. Jenny darted up and ran to check
the process.
"Don't be a fool!" she breathed. "Like that! You've got no time for a
scene." Turning to Alf, she motioned him with a swift gesture to the
door. "Look sharp!" she cried.
"I'm not going!" Emmy struggled with Jenny's restraining hands. "It's no
good fussing me, Jenny.... I'm not going. He can take who he likes. But
it's not me."
Alf and Jenny exchanged angry glances, each bitterly blaming the other.
"Em!" Jenny shouted. "You're mad!"
"No, I'm not. Let me go! Let me go! He didn't want me to go. He wanted
you. Oh, I knew it. I was a fool to think he wanted me." Then, looking
with a sort of crazed disdain at Jenny, she said coolly, "Well, how is
it you're not ready? Don't you see your _substitute's_ waiting! Your
_land_ lover!"
"Land!" cried Alf. "Land! A sailor!" He flushed deeply, raising his arms
a little as if to ward off some further revelation. Jenny, desperate,
had her hands higher than her head, protestingly quelling the scene. In
a loud voice she checked them.
"Do ... not ... be ... fools!" she cried. "What's all the fuss about?
Simply because Alf's a born booby, standing there like a fool! I can't
go. I wouldn't go--even if he wanted me. But he wants you!" She again
seized Emmy, delaying once more Emmy's mechanical unfastening of the big
buttons of her coat. "Alf! Get your coat. Get her out of the house! I
never heard such rubbish! Alf, say ... tell her you meant her to go! Say
it wasn't me!"
"I shouldn't believe him," Emmy said, clearly. "I know I saw him holding
your hand."
Jenny laughed hysterically.
"What a fuss!" she exclaimed. "He's been doing palmistry--reading it.
All about ... what's going to happen to me. Wasn't it, Alf!"
Emmy disregarded her, watching Alf's too-transparent uneasiness.
"You always _were_ a little lying beast," she said, venomously. "A
trickster."
"You see?" Jenny said, defiantly to Alf. "What my own sister says?"
"So you were. With your _sailor_.... And playing the fool with Alf!"
Emmy's voice rose. "You always were.... I wonder Alf's never seen it
long ago...."
At this moment, with electrifying suddenness, Pa put down his tankard.
"What, ain't you gone yet?" he trembled. "I thought you was going out!"
"How did he know!" They all looked sharply at one another, sobered. So,
for one instant, they stood, incapable of giving any explanation to the
meekly inquiring old man who had disturbed their quarrel. Alf, so
helpless before the girls, was steeled by the interruption. He took two
steps towards Emmy.
"We'll have this out later on," he said. "Meanwhile ... Come on, Em!
It's just on eight. Come along, there's a good girl!" He stooped, took
her hands, and drew her to her feet. Then, with uncommon tenderness, he
re-buttoned her coat, and, with one arm about her, led Emmy to the door.
She pressed back, but it was against him, within the magic circle of his
arm, suddenly deliriously happy.
Jenny, still panting, stood as she had stood for the last few minutes,
and watched their departure. She heard the front door close as they left
the house; and with shaky steps went and slammed the door of the
kitchen. Trembling violently, she leant against the door, as Emmy had
done earlier. For a moment she could not speak, could not think or feel;
and only as a clock in the neighbourhood solemnly recorded the eighth
hour did she choke down a little sob, and say with the ghost of her
bereaved irony:
"That's _done_ it!"