THE WINDOWsaid things like that about the Lighthouse, it seemedto her likely that he would knock a pile of booksover, just as they were going to sleep clumsily sweep-ing them off the table with his elbow. For she sup-posed that he had gone upstairs to work. Yet he lookedso desolate; yet she would feel relieved when he went;yet she would see that he was better treated to-mor-row; yet he was admirable with her husband; yet hismanners certainly wanted improving; yet she likedhis laugh — thinking this, as she came downstairs,she noticed that she could now see the moon itselfthrough the staircase window—the yellow harvestmoon — and turned, and they saw her, standing abovethem on the stairs.

‘That’s my mother,’ thought Prue. Yes; Mintashould look at her; Paul Rayley should look at her.That is the thing itself, she felt, as if there were onlyone person like that in the world; her mother. And,from having been quite grown up, a moment before,talking with the others, she became a child again, andwhat they had been doing was a game, and would hermother sanction their game, or condemn it, she won-dered. And thinking what a chance it was for Mintaand Paul and Lily to see her, and feeling what anextraordinary stroke of fortune it was for her to haveher, and how she would never grow up and neverleave home, she said, like a child, ‘We thought ofgoing down to the beach to watch the waves.’

Instantly, for no reason at all, Mrs. Ramsay becamelike a girl of twenty, full of gaiety. A mood of revelrysuddenly took possession of her. Of course they mustgo; of course they must go, she cried, laughing; andrunning down the last three or four steps quickly, she137
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