She had never made up her mind about anything. Decision was unknown to her. Her decisions, the decisions she made about the food she put on the table and about various matters about the house, were dictated by habit and by the amount of housekeeping money Hubert allowed her. Hubert was a frugal man. It was not that he meant to be unkind, but he was careful. He had calculated that the household could be run on such and such a sum, and that was the sum he produced every Friday morning. He always had it ready in his hand, counted out to the penny, when he came downstairs on his way to work. Every Friday morning she waited at the foot of the stairs and he handed her the money without a comment.

Before, when John was still at home, he would sometimes be there when Hubert gave her the money, and then the two of them, she and John, would exchange a look. On her part the look said, “You see the way he treats me.” And John’s look said, “I see. I see.” They agreed that Hubert knew no better than to behave the way he behaved. This knowledge, that Hubert knew no better, formed the foundation and framework of the conspiracy between them that made their days so interesting and that gave a warm start to most of their conversations. They were always talking about Hubert. There was no need for Hubert to do anything unusual to get himself talked about — not that he ever did do anything unusual or out of the ordinary. All he had to do was go about in his habitual way, coming in after work and sitting down with the paper and then sitting down to his tea and going to bed and getting up in the morning and doing all the things he always did in his routine that never varied and that at the same time never became monotonous. There was something insistent about Hubert’s daily procedure that called attention to itself, as though he was behaving as he did on purpose, and as though at any moment he might drop the charade and turn and show them the face they both suspected him of possessing, his true face, the face of a villain, the face of a man of violence, capable of saying and doing the most passionate and awful things, shocking things. He kept them in a constant state of suspense, and they were always exchanging looks when he was in the house, even when they only heard him walking about upstairs. But Hubert maintained his accustomed countenance, mild, amiable, complacent, burnished with his natural distrust of everyone and of every word anyone said, and held in firm focus by his consciousness of the worth of his own judgment.