originally sweet nature. The shock of impact with unpleasant conviction
made Jenny hasten to dissemble her real belief in Emmy's born
inferiority. Her note was changed from one of complaint into one of
persuasive entreaty.

"It's not that. It's not that. Not at all. But wouldn't you like a
change from stew and bread pudding yourself? Sometimes, I mean. You
_seem_ to like it all right." At that ill-considered suggestion, made
with unintentional savageness, Jenny so worked upon herself that her own
colour rose high. Her temper became suddenly unmanageable. "You talk
about me being out!" she breathlessly exclaimed. "When do I go out?
When! Tell me!"

"O-o-h! I _like_ that! What about going to the pictures with Alf
Rylett?" Emmy's hands were, jerking upon the table in her anger. "You're
always out with him!"

"Me? Well I never! I'm not. When--"

They were interrupted unexpectedly by a feeble and jubilant voice.

"More bready butter pudding!" said Pa Blanchard, tipping his plate to
show that he had finished.

"Yes, Pa!" For the moment Emmy was distracted from her feud. In a
mechanical way, as mothers sometimes, deep in conversation, attend to
their children's needs, she put another wedge of pudding upon the plate.
"Well, I say you _are_," she resumed in the same strained voice. "And
tell me when _I_ go out! I go out shopping. That's all. But for that,
I'm in the house day and night. You don't care tuppence about Alf--you