He heard more than he could bear to hear. The back sitting room was filling up with lives he despised and with people he detested, and he had no defense against any of it. He could have closed the window, but he was sure that the minute he appeared there with his arms up, pushing the sash tight, Rose would open the kitchen door, coming out into the garden, and he did not want to see her. He didn’t want to see her because he did not care about her. It was the first true thing he had said in a long time, and he was glad it was out in the open at last. He simply didn’t care about her. He cared nothing at all about her, and he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t realized it a long time ago. He couldn’t stand the thought of seeing her and having to speak to her and having to go on living in the same house with her. He could not think of her now without seeing the fluttering dishonesty of her expression, and he wondered if it would ever seem worth his while again to try to speak directly to her. What was the use of trying to talk to her? She never said “Yes” or “No.” It was always “Whatever you like,” or “I don’t mind,” or “Maybe, if that’s what you want.” And then the mute resignation that followed his decision, which, of course, was never what she wanted, although wild horses would not have dragged an objection out of her.

No, he wouldn’t bother trying to talk to her. It wasn’t worth his while, and it would only distress her for nothing. All the same, although Hubert felt that Rose was of no importance, he knew she was better than a good many people — better than the two women next door and better than the Donovans and better than that loud, good-for-nothing crowd at the tennis club. And he knew she was defenseless, and he felt that his indifference left her exposed, even though she didn’t know about it, and he pitied her, because in her own way she did her best, and nobody cared anything at all about her. She was a lost cause, all right, and it was a good thing that only he knew it. It would be terrible for Rose if the rest of the world knew what he knew about her. It was no accident that she had always lagged behind him. She had no sense. She was not able to take care of herself. She had always been the same.