THE WINDOWthe hall, looks down upon them, and descendsamong them, and acknowledges their tributessilently, and accepts their devotion and theirprostration before her (Paul did not move amuscle but looked straight before him as shepassed), she went down, and crossed theihall andbowed her head very slightly, as if she acceptedwhat they could not say: their tribute to herbeauty.

But she stopped. There was a smell ofburning. Could they have let the Bosuf en Daubeoverboil, she wondered? pray heaven not! whenthe great clangour of the gong announcedsolemnly, authoritatively, that all those scatteredabout, in attics, in bedrooms, on little perches oftheir own, reading, writing, putting the lastsmooth to their hair, or fastening dresses, mustleave all that, and the little odds and ends on theirwashing-tables and dres_sing—tables, and the novelson the bed-tables, and the diaries which were soprivate, and assemble in the dining—room fordinner.

But what have I done with my life? thoughtMrs. Ramsay, taking her place at the head of thetable, and looking at all the plates making whitecircles on it. " William, sit by me," she said.129