discovered in solitude would be scowling at the wall, with the
sheet of paper and the pencil given him for drawing circles lying
blank and idle on the kitchen table. This was a change, but it was
no improvement. Mrs Verloc including all these vagaries under the
general definition of excitement, began to fear that Stevie was
hearing more than was good for him of her husband’s conversations
with his friends. During his “walks” Mr Verloc, of course, met and
conversed with various persons. It could hardly be otherwise. His
walks were an integral part of his outdoor activities, which his
wife had never looked deeply into. Mrs Verloc felt that the
position was delicate, but she faced it with the same impenetrable
calmness which impressed and even astonished the customers of the
shop and made the other visitors keep their distance a little
wonderingly. No! She feared that there were things not good for
Stevie to hear of, she told her husband. It only excited the poor
boy, because he could not help them being so. Nobody could.
It was in the shop. Mr Verloc made no comment. He made no retort,
and yet the retort was obvious. But he refrained from pointing out
to his wife that the idea of making Stevie the companion of his
walks was her own, and nobody else’s. At that moment, to an
impartial observer, Mr Verloc would have appeared more than human
in his magnanimity. He took down a small cardboard box from a
shelf, peeped in to see that the contents were all right, and put
it down gently on the counter. Not till that was done did he break
the silence, to the effect that most likely Stevie would profit
greatly by being sent out of town for a while; only he supposed his
wife could not get on without him.
“Could not get on without him!” repeated Mrs Verloc slowly. “I
couldn’t get on without him if it were for his good! The idea! Of
course, I can get on without him. But there’s nowhere for him to
go.”
Mr Verloc got out some brown paper and a ball of string; and
meanwhile he muttered that Michaelis was living in a little cottage
in the country. Michaelis wouldn’t mind giving Stevie a room to
sleep in. There were no visitors and no talk there. Michaelis was
writing a book.
Mrs Verloc declared her affection for Michaelis; mentioned her
abhorrence of Karl Yundt, “nasty old man”; and of Ossipon she said
nothing. As to Stevie, he could be no other than very pleased. Mr
Michaelis was always so nice and kind to him. He seemed to like
the boy. Well, the boy was a good boy.
“You too seem to have grown quite fond of him of late,” she added,
after a pause, with her inflexible assurance.
Mr Verloc tying up the cardboard box into a parcel for the post,
broke the string by an injudicious jerk, and muttered several swear
words confidentially to himself. Then raising his tone to the
usual husky mutter, he announced his willingness to take Stevie
into the country himself, and leave him all safe with Michaelis.
He carried out this scheme on the very next day. Stevie offered no
objection. He seemed rather eager, in a bewildered sort of way.
He turned his candid gaze inquisitively to Mr Verloc’s heavy
countenance at frequent intervals, especially when his sister was
not looking at him. His expression was proud, apprehensive, and
concentrated, like that of a small child entrusted for the first
time with a box of matches and the permission to strike a light.
But Mrs Verloc, gratified by her brother’s docility, recommended
him not to dirty his clothes unduly in the country. At this Stevie
gave his sister, guardian and protector a look, which for the first
time in his life seemed to lack the quality of perfect childlike
trustfulness. It was haughtily gloomy. Mrs Verloc smiled.
“Goodness me! You needn’t be offended. You know you do get
yourself very untidy when you get a chance, Stevie.”
Mr Verloc was already gone some way down the street.
Thus in consequence of her mother’s heroic proceedings, and of her