‘Do you write many letters, Mr Tansley?' askedMrs Ramsay, pitying him too, Lily supposed; forthat was true of Mrs Ramsay—she pitied men alwaysas if they lacked something—women never, as ifthey had something. He wrote to his mother; other-wise he did not suppose he wrote one letter a month,said Mr Tansley, shortly.

For he was not going to talk the sort of rot thesepeople wanted him to talk. He was not going to becondescended to by these silly women. He hadbeen reading in his room, and now he came downand it all seemed to him silly, superficial, flimsy.Why did they dress? He had come down in hisordinary clothes. He had not got any dress clothes.'One never gets anything worth having by post'—that was the sort of thing they were always saying.