TO THE LIGHTHOUSEin together. They were awfully late; they were hor-ribly late, Minta said, as they found their way todifferent ends of the table.

"I lost my brooch—my grandmother’s brooch,"said Minta with a sound of lamentation in her voice,and a suffusion in her large brown eyes, lookingdown, looking up, as she sat by Mr. Ramsay, whichroused his chivalry so that he bantered her.

How could she be such a goose, he asked, as toscramble about the rocks in jewels?

She was by way of being terrified of him—he wasso fearfully clever, and the first night when she hadsat by him, and he talked about George Eliot,she had been really frightened, for she had leftthe third volume of Middlemarch in the train andshe never knew what happened in the end; butafterwards she got on perfectly, and made herselfout even more ignorant than she was, because heliked telling her she was a fool. And so tonight,directly he laughed at her, she was not frightened.Besides, she knew, directly she came into the roomthat the miracle had happened; she wore her goldenhaze. Sometimes she had it; sometimes not. Shenever knew why it came or why it went, or if shehad it until she came into the room and then sheknew instantly by the way some man looked at her.Yes, tonight she had it, tremendously; she knew148
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