Gradually Emmy's tearless sobs diminished; she began to murmur broken,
meaningless ejaculations of self-contempt; and to strain away from
Jenny. At last she pushed Jenny from her, feverishly freeing herself, so
that they stood apart, while Emmy blew her nose and wiped her eyes. All
this time they did not speak to each other, and when Emmy turned blindly
away Jenny mechanically took hold of the kettle, filled it, and set it
to boil upon the gas. Emmy watched her curiously, feeling that her nose
was cold and her eyes were burning. Little dry tremors seemed to shake
her throat; dreariness had settled upon her, pressing her down; making
her feel ashamed of such a display of the long secret so carefully
hoarded away from prying glances.

"What's that for?" she miserably asked, indicating the kettle.

"Going to steam my hat," Jenny said. "The brim's all floppy." There was
now only a practical note in her voice. She, too, was ashamed. "You'd
better go up and lie down for a bit. I'll stay with Pa, in case he falls
into the fire. Just the sort of thing he _would_ do on a night like
this. Just because you're upset."

"I shan't go up. It's too cold. I'll sit by the fire a bit."

They both went into the kitchen, where the old man was whistling under
his breath.

"Was there any noos on the play-cards?" he inquired after a moment,
becoming aware of their presence. "Emmy--Jenny."

"No, Pa. I told you. Have to wait till Sunday. Funny thing there's so
much more news in the Sunday papers: I suppose people are all extra