He sat in the kitchen and watched her. He held the cup awkwardly. Though why, he didn’t know. He looked round the kitchen to assert himself, and began slowly to expand. He laughed pleasantly in Julia’s face, which always made her turn away. It was the way he tossed his head. It was the little apologetic line that came in one corner of the mouth. So Julia turned away. She picked at a head of celery.

It’s no use, Julia, he said. I put your back up like.

She traced a grain of celery.

Why, she said, why, Joe, whatever is it makes you think that?

Through the pungent scent of celery, the wounded flesh, the crushed leaves.

Things, he said, comfortably.

She heard him gulping down his tea.

Go on, she said. You know you ought to be ashamed.

Why?

It came very cool, the tea hot, she felt the steam upon her face, she felt the menace of a cool word.

I’m not a fool. No, Joe, you can’t fool me. Talking in half-meanings, she said. Making out as. No. Oh, go on, Joe, you do, you make me mad.

She planked it down. It rattled on the sugar bowl.

That’s honest at least, Julia.

He sat watching a pool of tea.

There’s some as respects honesty, she said.

Yes, he sighed. There’s still a little in the world.

Head down, she knew he smiled. She could feel it moving in his words, the mouth shaping in a smile. Then he began to whistle.

All alone, Julia? he asked.

That’s no business of yours.

She could not ill-treat enough the handle of a cup.

I was makin’ conversation, he said.

We know.

Now, Julia.

On her arm his hand, that she knew too well, it was the hand the time the saw cut, does it hurt, she said, wait a bit and I’ll do it up, felt her own teeth bite her lip in an imitation of pain. It returned now with a scar. Almost physical pain.

Oh, lay off, Joe, she said quickly. You know it’s no good. What you’re up to. It don’t lead to nothink at all.

It led, at least, to silence, and on her arm a thoughtful hand.

What? he said slowly. Her?

Yes.

She’s all right, he said.

He began to whistle again.

She was all right. He listened for her, wondered, in the empty house. He whistled the clipped, tight tune. For a moment closing his eye on the path across the common, he knew that it was all right, Eden Standish or the world, he was walking, he was born with some purpose, he was on the side of right, there wasn’t any longer any doubt. He seemed to listen to his own tune. The face drooped. No longer any doubts, except the understandable ones, the ones that Julia liked to put up, that were real enough and shouldn’t be. Walking with Eden across the common, there were still the moments of difference, there would always be the moments of difference, man-made, that you stumbled over.