defending another woman's pride.

Alf groaned. His cheeks became less ruddy. He looked quickly at the
door, losing confidence.

"No: I don't know what it is," he said again. "I don't understand it."
He sat, biting his under lip, miserably undetermined. His grim front had
disappeared. He was, from the conquering hero, become a crestfallen
young man. He could not be passionate with Pa there. He felt that if
only she were in his arms she could not be untruthful, could not resist
him at all; but with the table between them she was safe from any
attack. He was powerless. And he could not say he loved her. He would
never be able to bring himself to say that to any woman. A woman might
ask him if he loved her, and he would awkwardly answer that of course he
did; but it was not in his nature to proclaim the fact in so many words.
He had not the fluency, the dramatic sense, the imaginative power to
sink and to forget his own self-consciousness. And so Jenny had won that
battle--not gloriously, but through the sheer mischance of
circumstances. Alf was beaten, and Jenny understood it.

"Don't _think_ about me," she whispered, in a quick pity. Alf still
shook his head, reproachfully eyeing her with the old bull-like concern.
"I'm not worth thinking about. I'm only a beast. And you say you can
trust Emmy.... She's ever so ..."

"Ah, but she can't make me mad like you do!" he said simply. "Jen, will
you come another night ... Do!" He was beseeching her, his hands
stretched towards her across the table, as near to making love as he
would ever be. It was his last faint hope for the changing of her heart
towards him. But Jenny slowly shook her head from side to side, a judge