THE WINDOWMr. Ramsay. ‘Well, then, look to-night,’ said Mrs.Ramsay. They paused. He wished Andrew could beinduced to work harder. He would lose every chanceof a scholarship if he didn’t. ‘Oh scholarships!' shesaid. Mr. Ramsay thought her foolish for saying that,about a serious thing, like a scholarship. He should bevery proud of Andrew if he got a scholarship, he said.She would be just as proud of him if he didn’t, sheanswered. They disagreed always about this, but itdid not matter. She liked him to believe in scholar-ships, and he liked her to be proud of Andrew what-ever he did. Suddenly she remembered those littlepaths on the edge of the cliffs.

Wasn’t it late? she asked. They hadn’t come homeyet. He flicked his watch carelessly open. But it wasonly just past seven. He held his watch open for a mo-ment, deciding that he would tell her what he hadfelt on the terrace. To begin with, it was not reasonableto be so nervous. Andrew could look after himself.Then, he wanted to tell her that when he was walk-ing on the terrace just now — here he became uncom-fortable, as if he were breaking into that solitude, thataloofness, that remoteness of hers. . . But she pressedhim. What had he wanted to tell her, she asked, think-ing it was about going to the Lighthouse; and that hewas sorry he had said ‘Damn you’. But no. He did notlike to see her look so sad, he said. Only wool-gather-ing, she protested, flushing a little. They both felt un-comfortable, as if they did not know whether to go onor go back. She had been reading fairy tales to James,she said. No, they could not share that; they could notsay that.

They had reached the gap between the two clumps816 - L.

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