TO THE LIGHTHOUSEso equally, so neatly from one side of the page toanother, with a little cough now and then, or some-thing said briefly to the other old gentleman op-posite. And she thought, standing there with herbook open, one could let whatever one thought ex-pand here like a leaf in water; and if it did wellhere, among the old gentlemen smoking and TheTimes crackling then it was right. And watching herfather as he wrote in his study, she thought (nowsitting in the boat) he was not vain, nor a tyrantand did not wish to make you pity him. Indeed, ifhe saw she was there, reading a book, he would askher, as gently as any one could, Was there nothinghe could give her?

Lest this should be wrong, she looked at himreading the little book with the shiny cover mottledlike a plover’s egg. No; it was right. Look at himnow, she wanted to say aloud to James. (But Jameshad his eye on the sail.) He is a sarcastic brute,James would say. He brings the talk round to him-self and his books, James would say. He is in-tolerably egotistical. Worst of all, he is a tyrant.But look! she said, looking at him. Look at him now.She looked at him reading the little book with hislegs curled; the little book whose yellowish pagesshe knew, without knowing what was written onthem. It was small; it was closely printed; on the282

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