THE WINDOWWhy did no one ask him his opinion? What did theyknow about the fishing industry?

Lily Briscoe knew all that. Sitting opposite him,could she not see, as in an X-ray photograph, theribs and thigh bones of the young man's desire toimpress himself, lying dark in the mist of his flesh—that thin mist which convention had laid over hisburning desire to break into the conversation? But,she thought, screwing up her Chinese eyes, and re-membering how he sneered at women, "can't paint,can't write," why should I help him to relievehimself?

There is a code of behaviour, she knew, whoseseventh article (it may be) says that on occasions ofthis sort it behoves the woman, whatever her ownoccupation may be, to go to the help of the youngman opposite so that he may expose and relievethe thigh bones, the ribs, of his vanity, of his urgentdesire to assert himself; as indeed it is their duty,she reflected, in her old maidenly fairness, to helpus, suppose the Tube were to burst into flames.Then, she thought, I should certainly expect Mr.Tansley to get me out. But how would it be, shethought, if neither of us did either of these things?So she sat there smiling.

"You're not planning to go to the Lighthouse, areyou, Lily," said Mrs. Ramsay. "Remember poor Mr.137
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