staring vacantly. The endeavour to keep him from making himself
objectionable in any way to the master of the house put no inconsiderable
anxiety into these two women's lives. "That boy," as they alluded to him
softly between themselves, had been a source of that sort of anxiety
almost from the very day of his birth. The late licensed victualler's
humiliation at having such a very peculiar boy for a son manifested
itself by a propensity to brutal treatment; for he was a person of fine
sensibilities, and his sufferings as a man and a father were perfectly
genuine. Afterwards Stevie had to be kept from making himself a nuisance
to the single gentlemen lodgers, who are themselves a queer lot, and are
easily aggrieved. And there was always the anxiety of his mere existence
to face. Visions of a workhouse infirmary for her child had haunted the
old woman in the basement breakfast-room of the decayed Belgravian house.
"If you had not found such a good husband, my dear," she used to say to
her daughter, "I don't know what would have become of that poor boy."

Mr Verloc extended as much recognition to Stevie as a man not
particularly fond of animals may give to his wife's beloved cat; and this
recognition, benevolent and perfunctory, was essentially of the same
quality. Both women admitted to themselves that not much more could be
reasonably expected. It was enough to earn for Mr Verloc the old woman's
reverential gratitude. In the early days, made sceptical by the trials
of friendless life, she used sometimes to ask anxiously: "You don't
think, my dear, that Mr Verloc is getting tired of seeing Stevie about?"
To this Winnie replied habitually by a slight toss of her head. Once,
however, she retorted, with a rather grim pertness: "He'll have to get
tired of me first." A long silence ensued. The mother, with her feet
propped up on a stool, seemed to be trying to get to the bottom of that
answer, whose feminine profundity had struck her all of a heap. She had
never really understood why Winnie had married Mr Verloc. It was very
sensible of her, and evidently had turned out for the best, but her girl
might have naturally hoped to find somebody of a more suitable age.
There had been a steady young fellow, only son of a butcher in the next
street, helping his father in business, with whom Winnie had been walking
out with obvious gusto. He was dependent on his father, it is true; but
the business was good, and his prospe