ome
to the glazed door of the parlour, and putting the curtain aside a
little, had peered into the dim shop. Seeing her husband sitting there
shadowy and bulky, with his hat tilted far back on his head, she had at
once returned to her stove. An hour or more later she took the green
baize apron off her brother Stevie, and instructed him to wash his hands
and face in the peremptory tone she had used in that connection for
fifteen years or so--ever since she had, in fact, ceased to attend to the
boy's hands and face herself. She spared presently a glance away from
her dishing-up for the inspection of that face and those hands which
Stevie, approaching the kitchen table, offered for her approval with an
air of self-assurance hiding a perpetual residue of anxiety. Formerly
the anger of the father was the supremely effective sanction of these
rites, but Mr Verloc's placidity in domestic life would have made all
mention of anger incredible even to poor Stevie's nervousness. The
theory was that Mr Verloc would have been inexpressibly pained and
shocked by any deficiency of cleanliness at meal times. Winnie after the
death of her father found considerable consolation in the feeling that
she need no longer tremble for poor Stevie. She could not bear to see
the boy hurt. It maddened her. As a little girl she had often faced
with blazing eyes the irascible licensed victualler in defence of her
brother. Nothing now in Mrs Verloc's appearance could lead one to
suppose that she was capable of a passionate demonstration.

She finished her dishing-up. The table was laid in the parlour. Going
to the foot of the stairs, she screamed out "Mother!" Then opening the
glazed door leading to the shop, she said quietly "Adolf!" Mr Verloc had
not changed his position; he had not apparently stirred a limb for an
hour and a half. He got up heavily, and came to his dinner in his
overcoat and with his hat on, without uttering a word. His silence in
itself had nothing startlingly unusual in this household, hidden in the
shades of the sordid street seldom touched by the sun, behind the dim
shop with its wares of disreputable rubbish. Only that day Mr Verloc's
taciturnity was so obviously thoughtful that the two women were impressed
by it. They sat silent themselves, keeping a watchful eye on poor
Stevie, lest he should break out into one of his fits of loquacity. He
faced Mr Verloc across the table, and remained very good and quiet,