"Jenny never speaks only what's the truth," May asserted.
"Yes, and a lot of good it does me," said Jenny indignantly. "I'd better by half tell a pack of lies, the same as other girls do."
"What she wants," said Alfie sententiously, "is a jolly good hiding. Look at her. There's a fine sister for a chap to have—nothing but paint and powder and hair-dye."
Jenny stood silent under this; but the upper lip was no longer visible. Her cheeks were pale, her eyes mere points of light. May was the first to speak in defense of the silent one.
"Brothers!" she scoffed. "Some girls would be a sight better without brothers. Hateful things!"
Jenny's feelings had been so overwrought by the fatigue of the dance followed by this domestic scene that May's gallant sally should have turned contempt to tears. But Alfie had enraged her too profoundly for weeping, and though tear-drops stood in her eyes, they were hard as diamonds.
"You oughtn't to talk to her like that, my boy," Charlie protested. "You're talking like a clergyman I once did some work for. He said, 'I'm not satisfied with this here box, Mr. Raeburn'—well, he said more than that—and I said, 'I'm not satisfied with your tone of voice,' and——"
"For goodness' sake, Charlie, keep your tongue quiet," his wife begged. "Look here, Jenny," she went on, "I won't have these hours kept, and that's all about it. Wherever you were last night, you weren't at home where you ought to be, and where you shall be as long as you live with me. Now that's all about it, and don't give me any back answers, because I know what's right and I'm your mother."
"I think you're a bit hard on the girl, Florrie, I do really," said the father. "She takes after her dad. I was always one for seeing a bit of life. What I says is, 'Let the young enjoy themselves.'"
"What you say is neither here nor there," replied Mrs. Raeburn. "You never did have any sense, you haven't got any sense now, and you never will have any sense."