THE WINDOWsparks but not words. He sat there scowling.He had said nothing, he would have her observe.Let her give him the credit for that! But whyafter all should poor Augustus not ask for anotherplate of soup? He had merely touched Ellen’sarm and said:‘ Ellen, please, another plate of soup," andthen Mr. Ramsay scowled like that.

And why not? Mrs. Ramsay demanded.Surely they could let Augustus have his soup ifhe wanted it. He hated people wallowing infood, Mr. Ramsay frowned at her. He hatedeverything dragging on for hours like this. Buthe had controlled himself, Mr. Ramsay wouldhave her observe, disgusting though the sightwas. But why show it so plainly, Mrs. Ramsaydemanded (they looked at each other down thelong table sending these questions and answersacross, each knowing exactly what the other felt).Everybody could see, Mrs. Ramsay thought.There was Rose gazing at her father, there wasRoger gazing at his father; both would be off inspasms of laughter in another second, she knew,and so she said promptly (indeed it was time): "

Light the cand1es," and they jumped upinstantly and went and fumbled at the sideboard.

Why could he never conceal his feelings?Mrs. Ramsay wondered, and she wondered if149