She roused herself unwillingly in the silent room, and a moment later Hubert came in with a tray of tea and toast, and exclaimed to find her awake there in the darkness, with the blind up.

“I should have come sooner,” he said reproachfully.

When he snapped on the light, balancing the tray awkwardly on his arm, crouching over it as though anxiety would save it from falling to the floor, she gazed at him with such heavy eyes that he was startled, thinking she had a return of her fever, but it was luxury that lay on her eyelids and wetted her eyes, and she pressed her untidy invalid’s hair back with her flat hands and tried to say something; but then her joy, too vague, too large, unshared and already lost, turned to weak tears, and he shook his head in despair and put the tray down on her knees.

“Don’t cry till you’ve tasted it anyway,” he said, watching her for a sign of a smile. “Maybe it’s not as bad as you think.”

“Oh, it’s not the tea,” she said. “Thanks very much, Hubert. The tray looks lovely.”

He pulled the shawl up around her shoulders and sat down on the side of the bed, watching her to encourage her, with his hands between his knees. She touched the teapot with the point of her finger, feeling the hotness of it, and could find nothing to say to him.

He said reluctantly, “What are you worrying about now, honey? You shouldn’t be worrying your head about things that don’t matter.”

“The things that matter to me might not be the things that matter to you. Has that ever crossed your mind?” she cried at once.

The tears ran slowly down her cheeks. She might cry like that for an hour, he knew.

He sighed and got up.

“Well, is the tea all right, at least?” he asked.

“Oh yes. The tea is all right, thanks. You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble. I hate to put you to any trouble.”

She turned her eyes to the window and looked resentfully out at the darkness, putting her hand against her mouth as though she were appalled.

“In the name of God, Rose, why don’t you make an effort to pull yourself together. Come on now, and I’ll wrap you up and you can sit downstairs all comfortable till it’s time to get back into bed. It’ll be a change for you, to get out of this old room.”

“You’re very nice all of a sudden, Hubert. All concerned about me.

When she looked directly at him her eyes were wild and afraid with malice.

“What ails you? Now what’s ailing you?” he cried.

“Nothing ails me, except that I’m sick and tired of being made an excuse of. I hate a hypocrite. If you want to go back downstairs, go on.”

“Are you gone mad, or what?”