THE   WINDOW
sparks 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 why
after all should poor Augustus not ask for another
plate of soup? He had merely touched Ellen's
arm and said:
" Ellen, please, another plate of soup," and
then Mr. Ramsay scowled like that.
And why not? Mrs. Ramsay demanded.
Surely they could let Augustus have his soup if
he wanted it. He hated people wallowing in
food, Mr. Ramsay frowned at her. He hated
everything dragging on for hours like this. But
he had controlled himself, Mr. Ramsay would
have her observe, disgusting though the sight
was. But why show it so plainly, Mrs. Ramsay
demanded (they looked at each other down the
long table sending these questions and answers
across, each knowing exactly what the other felt).
Everybody could see, Mrs. Ramsay thought.
There was Rose gazing at her father, there was
Roger gazing at his father; both would be off in
spasms of laughter in another second, she knew,
and so she said promptly (indeed it was time):
" Light the candles," and they jumped up
instantly and went and fumbled at the sideboard.
Why could he never conceal his feelings?
Mrs. Ramsay wondered, and she wondered if
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