One night she was upstairs when Gilbert came in, and after she finished her letter came down and found him in the living room in a chair by the bay window, staring into space. She asked him if anything were wrong. The way the fading light caught the shadows made his face look as if it were collapsing. He frowned, not turning in her direction, and said no, with a sort of scorn she’d never heard from him, except after a few cocktails, but never aimed at her. She was miserable that night, mentioned nothing about it at dinner, and lying in bed thought of Aunt Tizzy’s talk about marriage having its difficult moments and realized this was one. It was as if she did not know Gilbert anymore.

There was nothing to do. In her family it was never done to talk to a man in a mood. Her mother had always gone wisely silent when Mr. Eliot went under a dark cloud, and glided over to the bar and occupied herself with a drink until the mood passed. Unfortunately for Lilian, she did not like the taste of alcohol and was left to suffice with feeling.

The next night it was raining and Lilian hovered near the front door to be there when Gilbert got home. When she helped him off with his coat he looked at her anxiously, smiling in his old way. She felt their old rapport. The short estrangement made their coming together all the sweeter. But Lilian did not forget his dark cloud, and wondered when it would descend on him again.

34 • The household fills up

34 • The household fills up

LILIAN AND GILBERT had help. They were never alone in the house on Joy Street.

Maureen Conner, in the kitchen, was good at stews and pies. She’d come over from County Kerry and lived in one of the narrow maid’s rooms on the third floor. Maureen had a pudding face and fat neck, small eyes, and teeth which slanted back into her mouth like a rodent’s. Peeling apples, she always looked disappointed, as if the fruit didn’t measure up to her ideal. Maureen shook her head at the ways of the world, older than her twenty-eight years. In the mornings Lilian had seen her slip out of the house into the Beacon Hill fog to catch the 6 A. M. mass, a lace mantilla draped over her head. In her room there was a standing crucifix and wooden rosary beads pooled on her bedside table.