142 TO THE LIGHTHOUSEastonishingly beautiful. Her beauty seemed to him,if that were possible, to increase.Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away,As with your shadow I with these did play,she finished.

‘Well?’ she said, echoing his smile dreamily,looking up from her book.As with your shadow I with these did play,she murmured putting the book on the table.

What had happened she wondered, as she took upher knitting, since she had last seen him alone? Sheremembered dressing, and seeing the moon; Andrewholding his plate too high at dinner; being depressedby something William had said; the birds in the trees;the sofa on the landing; the children being awake;Charles Tansley waking them with his books falling

—oh no, that she had invented; and Paul having awash-leather case for his watch. Which should shetell him about?

‘They’re engaged,’ she said, beginning to knit,‘Paul and Minta.’

‘So I guessed,’ he said. There was nothing verymuch to be said about it. Her mind was still going upand down, up and down with the poetry; he was stillfeeling very vigorous, very forthright, after readingabout Steenie’s funeral. So they sat silent. Then shebecame aware that she wanted him to say something.

Anything, anything, she thought, going on withher knitting. Anything will do.

'How nice it would be to marry a man with a wash-leather bag for his watch,’ she said, for that was thesort of joke they had together.He snorted. He felt about this engagement as he
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