Hubert got out of his chair and walked to the door. His mind was made up. He would go upstairs and wash his hands as usual, and change from his suit coat into his woolen cardigan, as usual, and then he would come down and let events take their course. His mind was made up, but even so, he hesitated before opening the door. But once the door was open he was up the stairs like a shot and into the bathroom, where he scrubbed his hands vigorously and splashed cold water on his face. He felt better already, knowing he was going to do the right thing. It was all a lot of nonsense, much better to get everything out into the open. Now he would go straight down to the kitchen and have it out with Rose. He would laugh her out of her gloominess. It was only a matter of finding the right thing to say. He would get her to laugh at herself and see what nonsense all this bickering was. He hurried down the stairs and down the three steps that led from the hall to the kitchen as though he were bringing news that could not wait, good news, the best news, but at the kitchen door he hesitated and then, hearing no movement inside, although she must have heard him thundering down the stairs, he beat a loud postman’s tattoo on the door and burst into the room to find it empty. The door into the garden was open. She had gone out there, and he could not follow her. All the neighbors would look out through their back windows, and anyone who happened to be out in the neighboring gardens could hear every word he said.

He looked over at the stove to see if by any chance she had left the teapot there, but the top of the stove was as clear as the top of the table and the drainboard by the sink. The kitchen was spotless. She had finished working there. There was to be nothing to eat, then.