temper. But another, emotionally
more potent, fact produced in Emmy feelings of still greater stress. To
that fact she had this evening given involuntary expression. Now, how
would she, how could she, handle her destiny? Jenny, shrewdly thinking
as she sat with her father in the kitchen and heard Emmy open the front
door, pondered deeply as to her sister's ability to turn to account her
own sacrifice.

iv

Within a moment Alf Rylett appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, Emmy
standing behind him until he moved forward, and then closing the door
and leaning back against it. His first glance was in the direction of
Jenny, who, however, did not rise as she would ordinarily have done. He
glanced quickly at her face and from her face to her hands, so busily
engaged in manipulating the materials from which she was to re-trim her
hat. Then he looked at Pa Blanchard, whom he touched lightly and
familiarly upon the shoulder. Alf was a rather squarely built young man
of thirty, well under six feet, but not ungainly. He had a florid,
reddish complexion, and his hair was of a common but unnamed colour,
between brown and grey, curly and crisp. He was clean-shaven. Alf was
obviously one who worked with his hands: in the little kitchen he
appeared to stand upon the tips of his toes, in order that his walk
might not be too noisy. That fact might have suggested either mere
nervousness or a greater liking for life out of doors. When he walked it
was as though he did it all of a piece, so that his shoulders moved as
well as his legs. The habit was shown as he lunged forward to grip
Jenny's hand. When he spoke he shouted, and he addressed Pa as a boy
might have done who was not quite completely at his ease, but who
thought it necessary to pretend that he was so.

"Good evening, Mr. Blanchard!" he cried boisterously. "Sitting by the
fire, I see!"

Pa looked at him rather vacantly, apparently straining his memory in
order to recognise the new-comer. It was plain that as a personal matter
he had no immediate use for Alf Rylett; but he presently nodded his
head.

"Sitting by the fire," he confirmed. "Getting a bit warm. It's cold
to-night. Is there any noos, Alf Rylett?"

"Lots of it!" roared Alf, speaking as if it had been to a deaf man or a
foreigner. "They say this fire at Southwark means ten thousand pounds
damage. Big factory there--gutted. Of course, no outside fire escapes.
_As_ usual. Fully insured, though. It'll cost them n