128 TO THE LIGHTHOUSEThe faintest light was on her face, as if the glow ofMinta opposite, some excitement, some anticipationof happiness was reflected in her, as if the sun of thelove of men and women rose over the rim of the table-cloth, and without knowing what it was she benttowards it and greeted it. She kept looking atMinta, shyly, yet curiously, so that Mrs Ramsaylooked from one to the other and said, speaking toPrue in her own mind, You will be as happy as sheis one of these days. You will be much happier, sheadded, because you are my daughter, she meant; herown daughters must be happier than other people’sdaughters. But dinner was over. It was time to go.They were only playing with things on their plates.She would wait until they had done laughing at somestory her husband was telling. He was having a jokewith Minta about a bet. Then she would get up.
She liked Charles Tansley, she thought, suddenly;she liked his laugh. She liked him for being so angrywith Paul and Minta. She liked his awkwardness.There was a lot in that young man after all. AndLily, she thought, putting her napkin beside herplate, she always has some joke of her own. Oneneed never bother about Lily. She waited. Shetucked her napkin under the edge of her plate. Well,were they done now? No. That story had led toanother story. Her husband was in great spiritsto-night, and wishing, she supposed, to make it allright with old Augustus after that scene about thesoup, had drawn him in—they were telling storiesabout someone they had both known at college. Shelooked at the window in which the candle flamesburnt brighter now that the panes were black, and
