closed her lips, looking for a moment like the girl in the sliding
window, inscrutable. Emmy, also recovering herself, spoke again, trying
to steady her voice.

"It's not what you think. But I can't bear to see you ... playing about
with him. It's not fair. He thinks you mean it. You don't!"

"Course I don't. I don't mean anything. A fellow like that!" Jenny
laughed a little, woundingly.

"What's the matter with him?" Savagely, Emmy betrayed herself again. She
was trembling from head to foot, her mind blundering hither and thither
for help against a quicker-witted foe. "It's only _you_ he's not good
enough for," she said passionately. "What's the matter with him?"

Jenny considered, her pale face now deadly white, all the heat gone from
her cheeks, though the hard glitter remained in her eyes, cruelly
indicating the hunger within her bosom.

"Oh, he's all right in his way," she drawlingly admitted. "He's clean.
That's in his favour. But he's quiet ... he's got no devil in him. Sort
of man who tells you what he likes for breakfast. I only go with
him ... well, you know why, as well as I do. He's all right enough, as
far as he goes. But he's never on for a bit of fun. That's it: he's got
no devil in him. I don't like that kind. Prefer the other sort."

During this speech Emmy had kept back bitter interruptions by an
unparalleled effort. It had seemed as though her fury had flickered,
blazing and dying away as thought and feeling struggled together for
mastery. At the end of it, however, and at Jenny's declared preference