"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