174 TO THE LIGHTHOUSEher. He had been a little out of temper too at break-fast. And then, and then—this was one of thosemoments when an enormous need urged him, withoutbeing conscious what it was, to approach anywoman, to force them, he did not care how, his needwas so great, to give him what he wanted: sympathy.

Was anybody looking after her? he said. Hadshe everything she wanted?

'Oh, thanks, everything,' said Lily Briscoe ner-vously. No; she could not do it. She ought tohave floated off instantly upon some wave of sym-pathetic expansion: the pressure on her was tre-mendous. But she remained stuck. There was anawful pause. They both looked at the sea. Why,thought Mr Ramsay, should she look at the sea whenI am here? She hoped it would be calm enough forthem to land at the Lighthouse, she said. The Light-house! The Lighthouse! What's that got to dowith it? he thought impatiently. Instantly, withthe force of some primeval gust (for really he couldnot restrain himself any longer), there issued fromhim such a groan that any other woman in the wholeworld would have done something, said something

—all except myself, thought Lily, girding at herselfbitterly, who am not a woman, but a peevish, ill-tempered, dried-up old maid presumably.

Mr Ramsay sighed to the full. He waited. Wasshe not going to say anything? Did she not see whathe wanted from her? Then he said he had a particu-lar reason for wanting to go to the Lighthouse. Hiswife used to send the men things. There was a poorboy with a tuberculous hip, the lightkeeper's son.He sighed profoundly. He sighed significantly. All

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