Where he worked, and indeed in other places, many men were like him.

In one respect he resembled them, perhaps, too much--he disliked leaving the ground unless he knew precisely where he was coming down again.
He and Cecilia had "got on" from the first.

They had both desired to have one child--no more; they had both desired to keep up with the times--no more; they now both considered Hilary's position awkward--no more; and when Cecilia, in the special Jacobean bed, and taking care to let him have his sleep out first, had told him of this matter of the Hughs, they had both turned it over very carefully, lying on their backs, and speaking in grave tones.

Stephen was of opinion that poor old Hilary must look out what he was doing.

Beyond this he did not go, keeping even from his wife the more unpleasant of what seemed to him the possibilities.
Then, in the words she had used to Hilary, Cecilia spoke: "It's so sordid, Stephen." He looked at her, and almost with one accord they both said: "But it's all nonsense!" These speeches, so simultaneous, stimulated them to a robuster view.
What was this affair, if real, but the sort of episode that they read of in their papers?
What was it, if true, but a duplicate of some bit of fiction or drama which they daily saw described by that word "sordid"?
Cecilia, indeed, had used this word instinctively.