"It was given to me for my birthday."
"Oh. Well, I guess I'd better be washing up for dinner."
Helen did not reply. She seated herself at the vanity table and began to cold-cream her face with the upward-outward gesture prescribed for ladies past forty who care about their looks.
Hubert went to his own room. It was small but it had three windows and the furniture was comfortable. Helen had attended to the furnishings. He remembered that she had worked very hard to make that room attractive to him. She had been awfully nice about that.
He wondered if he ought to shave. He went to the mirror and turned his cheek to the glass. At the same moment he rubbed his hand over the bristles, thus making it impossible for him to see whether or not he needed a shave. He decided that he could get by another day. Besides it was foolish to shave when there wasn't going to be any company. He guessed he would have to change his shirt. This one was pretty dirty. Well, no, not so dirty at that. He looked in the mirror again. The shirt was all right. What the hell! He'd wash his face and hands and clean his nails and that would be enough. He went down the hall to the bathroom. The door was locked but frequently it stuck and Hubert thought this was one of the times. He turned the knob and forced himself against the door.
Helen's voice, frigid with disdain, came from within. "Would you like an ax?" she asked.
He didn't answer. He went downstairs and washed his hands at the kitchen sink and afterwards dried them
