“Why, the idee!” exclaimed Em, coloring angrily and fluttering until the rose almost fell out of her girdle. “Zarelda Winser, you tell her that ain’t so!” “No, it ain’t so,” said Zarelda, composedly, finishing her soup and beginning on a soda cracker. “He didn’t ask me at all. He asked Em hisself.” “My!” said Net Carter, who had not been giving attention to the conversation. “What larrapin’ good lunches you do have, Em Brackett. Chicken sandwich, an’ spiced cur’nts, an’ cake! My!” Em Brackett looked out of the cobwebbed window at a small dwelling between the factory and the river. “I wonder why Mis’ Allen don’t hide up that ugly porch o’ her’n with vines,” she said, frostily. In factory society “larrapin” was not considered a polite word and a snub invariably awaited the unfortunate young woman who used it. The line must be drawn. When the whistle blew the girls started leisurely for the stairs. There would be fifteen minutes during which they might stand around the halls and talk to the young men. Zarelda fell back, permitting all to precede her. Em looked back once or twice to see where she was. “Well, if that ’Reldy Winser ain’t grit!” whispered Nell Curry to Min Aster. “Just as good as acknowledgin’ he’s threw off on her, an’ her a-holdin’ up her head that way. There ain’t another girl in the factory c’u’d do that—without flinchin’, too.” When Zarelda reached the first hall she looked about her deliberately for Jim Sheppard. It had been his custom to meet her at the head of the stairs and going with her to one of the windows overlooking the Falls, to talk until the second whistle sent them to their looms. With a resolute air she joined Em Brackett, who was looking unusually pretty with a flush of excitement on her face and a defiant sparkle in her eyes. In a moment Jim Sheppard came in. He hesitated when he saw the two girls together. A dull red went over his face. Then he crossed the hall and deliberately ignoring Zarelda, smiled into Em’s boldly inviting eyes and said, distinctly—“Em, don’t you want to take a little walk? There’s just time.” “Why, yes,” said Em, with a flash of poorly concealed triumph. “’Reldy, if you’re a-goin’ on upstairs, would you just as lieve pack my bucket up?” “I’d just as lieve.” Zarelda took the bucket, and the young couple walked away airily. This was the way the factory young men had of disclosing their preferences. It was considered quite proper for a young man and a young woman to “go together” for months, or even years, and for one to “throw off” on the other, when attracted by a fresher face, with no explanation or apology. “Well,” whispered Belle Church, “I guess there ain’t one of us but’s been threw off on some time or other, so we know how it feels. But this is worse. He’s been goin’ with her more’n a year—an then to stop off so sudden!”