THE WINDOWwill be as happy as she is one of these days. Youwill be much happier, she added, because you aremy daughter, she meant; her own daughter mustbe happier than other people’s daughters. But dinnerwas over. It was time to go. They were only playingwith things on their plates. She would wait untilthey had done laughing at some story her husbandwas telling. He was having a joke with Minta abouta bet. Then she would get up.

She liked Charles Tansley, she thought, suddenly;she liked his laugh. She liked him for being so angrywith Paul and Minta. She liked his awkwardness.There was a lot in that young man after all. AndLily, she thought, putting her napkin beside herplate, she always has some joke of her own. Oneneed never bother about Lily. She waited. Shetucked her napkin under the edge of her plate.Well, were they done now? No. That story had ledto another story. Her husband was in great spiritstonight, and wishing, she supposed, to make it allright with old Augustus after that scene about thesoup, had drawn him in-they were telling storiesabout some one they had both known at college. Shelooked at the window in which the candle flamesburnt brighter now that the panes were black, andlooking at that outside the voices came to her verystrangely, as if they were voices at a service in165
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