Emmy's case, because she was older and because the love she needed was
under her eyes being wasted upon Jenny--if it were love, and not that
mixture of admiration and desire with self-esteem that goes to make the
common formula to which the name of love is generally attached. Jenny
could not be jealous of Emmy as Emmy was jealous of Jenny. She had no
cause; Emmy was not her rival. Jenny's rival was life itself, as will be
shown hereafter: she had her own pain.

It was thus only natural that the two girls, having pushed Pa's chair to
the side of the kitchen fire, and having loaded and set light to Pa's
pipe, should work together in silence for a few minutes, clearing the
table and washing the supper dishes. They were distant, both aggrieved;
Emmy with labouring breath and a sense of bitter animosity, Jenny with
the curled lip of one triumphant who does not need her triumph and would
abandon it at the first move of forgiveness. They could not speak. The
work was done, and Emmy was rinsing the washing basin, before Jenny
could bring herself to say awkwardly what she had in her mind.

"Em," she began. "I didn't know you ... you know." A silence. Emmy
continued to swirl the water round with the small washing-mop, her face
averted. Jenny's lip stiffened. She made another attempt, to be the
last, restraining her irritation with a great effort. "If you like I
won't ... I won't go out with him any more."

"Oh, you needn't worry," Emmy doggedly said, with her teeth almost
clenched. "I'm not worrying about it." She tried then to keep silent;
but the words were forced from her wounded heart. With uncontrollable
sarcasm she said: "It's very good of you, I'm sure!"

"Em!" It was coaxing. Jenny went nearer. Still there was no reply.