evening."

Mr Verloc intimated by morose grunts and signs that his feet were not
wet, and that anyhow he did not care. The proposal as to slippers was
disregarded as beneath his notice. But the question of going out in the
evening received an unexpected development. It was not of going out in
the evening that Mr Verloc was thinking. His thoughts embraced a vaster
scheme. From moody and incomplete phrases it became apparent that Mr
Verloc had been considering the expediency of emigrating. It was not
very clear whether he had in his mind France or California.

The utter unexpectedness, improbability, and inconceivableness of such an
event robbed this vague declaration of all its effect. Mrs Verloc, as
placidly as if her husband had been threatening her with the end of the
world, said:

"The idea!"

Mr Verloc declared himself sick and tired of everything, and besides--She
interrupted him.

"You've a bad cold."

It was indeed obvious that Mr Verloc was not in his usual state,
physically and even mentally. A sombre irresolution held him silent for
a while. Then he murmured a few ominous generalities on the theme of
necessity.

"Will have to," repeated Winnie, sitting calmly back, with folded arms,
opposite her husband. "I should like to know who's to make you. You
ain't a slave. No one need be a slave in this country--and don't you
make yourself one." She paused, and with invincible and steady candour.
"The business isn't so bad," she went on. "You've a comfortable home."

She glanced all round the parlour, from the corner cupboard to the good
fire in the grate. Ensconced cosily behind the shop of doubtful wares,
with the mysteriously dim window, and its door suspiciously ajar in the
obscure and narrow street, it was in all essentials of domestic propriety
and domestic comfort a respectable home. Her devoted affection missed
out of it her brother Stevie, now enjoying a damp villegiature in the
Kentish lanes under the care of Mr Michaelis. She missed him poignantly,
with all the force of her protecting passion. This was the boy's home
too--the roof, the cupboard, the stoked grate. On this thought Mrs
Verloc rose, and walking to the other end of the table, said in the
fulness of her heart:

"And you are not tired of me."

Mr Verloc made no sound. Winnie leaned on his shoulder from behind, and
pressed her lips to his forehead. Thus she lingered. Not a whisper
reached them from the outside wor