her and his sister had established that ethical fact on an
unshakable foundation. They had established, erected, consecrated it
behind Mr Verloc's back, for reasons that had nothing to do with abstract
morality. And Mr Verloc was not aware of it. It is but bare justice to
him to say that he had no notion of appearing good to Stevie. Yet so it
was. He was even the only man so qualified in Stevie's knowledge,
because the gentlemen lodgers had been too transient and too remote to
have anything very distinct about them but perhaps their boots; and as
regards the disciplinary measures of his father, the desolation of his
mother and sister shrank from setting up a theory of goodness before the
victim. It would have been too cruel. And it was even possible that
Stevie would not have believed them. As far as Mr Verloc was concerned,
nothing could stand in the way of Stevie's belief. Mr Verloc was
obviously yet mysteriously _good_. And the grief of a good man is
august.

Stevie gave glances of reverential compassion to his brother-in-law. Mr
Verloc was sorry. The brother of Winnie had never before felt himself in
such close communion with the mystery of that man's goodness. It was an
understandable sorrow. And Stevie himself was sorry. He was very sorry.
The same sort of sorrow. And his attention being drawn to this
unpleasant state, Stevie shuffled his feet. His feelings were habitually
manifested by the agitation of his limbs.

"Keep your feet quiet, dear," said Mrs Verloc, with authority and
tenderness; then turning towards her husband in an indifferent voice, the
masterly achievement of instinctive tact: "Are you going out to-night?"
she asked.

The mere suggestion seemed repugnant to Mr Verloc. He shook his head
moodily, and then sat still with downcast eyes, looking at the piece of
cheese on his plate for a whole minute. At the end of that time he got
up, and went out--went right out in the clatter of the shop-door bell.
He acted thus inconsistently, not from any desire to make himself
unpleasant, but because of an unconquerable restlessness. It was no
earthly good going out. He could not find anywhere in London what he
wanted. But he went out. He led a cortege of dismal thoughts along dark
streets, through lighted streets, in and out of two flash bars, as if in
a half-hearted attempt to make a night of it, and finally back again to
his menaced home, where he sat down fatigued behind the counter, a