He was still smiling, but he was hurt. She looked at him as though he was turning out to be just like her mother — catching her out in a mistake and then bullying her.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said impatiently. “Here, look, have this nice piece of cake.”

“I don’t want it now,” she said, and “now” told him he had spoiled everything.

“Oh, all right, so,” he said, and he took the piece of cake and crammed it into his mouth and got up from the table and went over to stand by the window.

He pushed the green net curtains aside and looked out. He saw the chimneys of the houses on the other side of the street and the gray streaked sky above. It had been raining on and off all day. As Hubert watched, another shower began, and the raindrops dashed violently against the window. He felt a chill go through him although the windows were closed. Rose still sat at the table where he had left her. He felt ashamed of himself. If he had left her alone she would have eaten the cake and then she would have been happier. He longed to comfort her, but the cake was gone and he could think of no other peace offering. He wished he knew what to say to her. He hoped she would soon get up and start clearing the table, because until she gave some sign he could not turn from the window and he was tired of standing there looking out at the rain and blaming himself. Then he turned without intending to, and she was sitting with her head down and her hands in her lap.

She looked at him piteously and said, “I’m sorry, Hubert.”

He said gently, “There’s nothing in the world for you to be sorry about.”