She remembered that Quarry was on that detail as machinist. That made her think it must have been a long job, for Quarry’s voice carried wonderfully, and she did not distinguish it among the others in the kitchen. Her mind wandered to the consideration of the capabilities of her shaving apron as a cover for the packing-box her lover sat on when he played. That suggested to her the probability she should never shave again, and that no woman would dare after her marriage to stand in her doorway and say in venomous admiration, “How elegant you shave!” They had done it often heretofore, God knew.
Her window was raised slightly, and some one tapped on the jamb. She turned her head at this usual intrusion. “Come off, Quarry!” she said hotly.
He came in through the window and stood by the door. “It’s a real pity Jarlsen’s late,” he answered. His voice was hard and nasal, the most effective voice for taunts.
“Is he late?” she asked more crossly.
Quarry laughed. “I guess,” he said, “you knew he was late before it would have been quite time for him to come. You know the listening heart worries terrible they say, and you ain’t got no call to be so high with me. You can hear them girls in the kitchen laughin’ at you, same’s I do. I guess Jarlsen’s getting tired, maybe. He’s kinder in demand, seein’ he’s the only fellow that’s kep’ his complexion in the whole plant.”
Emma grew rather white. “Stop your nasty tongue!” she cried imperatively. “You’re always lying! Your face is lying and your eyes can’t see straight. You let what people do to me alone, or you’ll have business of your own to settle. If I was a man, and couldn’t get a respectable girl to marry me because I was a liar and she hated me, I’d let her alone for shame’s sake, when she took up with a man who can tell the truth.”
Her voice sounded very loud in her ears as she stopped; for the two fiddles were still, and there was no talking among the dancers.
Quarry opened the door as if some one had knocked, and looked out. His features acquired a sudden prominence as the colour flew from his face. Fear crept into Emma’s eyes while she looked at him, shaking with his shadow on the half-open door.
She forgot him in the great cry that burst from the other room. It was a horrified, helpless cry, that gave place to a shocked silence.
She wrenched the door back and stood on the threshold in her white, scant gown of mechanic’s bride’s finery. Her attitude showed faintness, and her head hung down for lack of courage.