where she had her motionless being. He stroked the cat, poked the fire,
had his lunch served to him there. He left its slightly stuffy cosiness
with evident reluctance, but, all the same, remained out till the night
was far advanced. He never offered to take Winnie to theatres, as such a
nice gentleman ought to have done. His evenings were occupied. His work
was in a way political, he told Winnie once. She would have, he warned
her, to be very nice to his political friends.

And with her straight, unfathomable glance she answered that she would be
so, of course.

How much more he told her as to his occupation it was impossible for
Winnie's mother to discover. The married couple took her over with the
furniture. The mean aspect of the shop surprised her. The change from
the Belgravian square to the narrow street in Soho affected her legs
adversely. They became of an enormous size. On the other hand, she
experienced a complete relief from material cares. Her son-in-law's
heavy good nature inspired her with a sense of absolute safety. Her
daughter's future was obviously assured, and even as to her son Stevie
she need have no anxiety. She had not been able to conceal from herself
that he was a terrible encumbrance, that poor Stevie. But in view of
Winnie's fondness for her delicate brother, and of Mr Verloc's kind and
generous disposition, she felt that the poor boy was pretty safe in this
rough world. And in her heart of hearts she was not perhaps displeased
that the Verlocs had no children. As that circumstance seemed perfectly
indifferent to Mr Verloc, and as Winnie found an object of quasi-maternal
affection in her brother, perhaps this was just as well for poor Stevie.

For he was difficult to dispose of, that boy. He was delicate and, in a
frail way, good-looking too, except for the vacant droop of his lower