THE WINDOW

the man. There was always a chance. At any
moment the leader might arise; the man of
genius, in politics as in anything else. Probably
he will be extremely disagreeable to us old fogies,
thought Mr. Bankes, doing his best to make
allowances, for he knew by some curious physical
sensation, as of nerves erect in his spine, that
he was jealous, for himself partly, partly more
probably for his work, for his point of view, for
his science; and therefore he was not entirely
open-minded or altogether fair, for Mr. Tansley
seemed to be saying, You have wasted your lives.
You are all of you wrong. Poor old fogies, you're
hopelessly behind the times. He seemed to be
rather cocksure, this young man; and his
manners were bad. But Mr. Bankes bade him-
self observe, he had courage; he had ability; he
was extremely well up in the facts. Probably,
Mr. Bankes thought, as Tansley abused the
government, there is a good deal in what he says.
" Tell me now , . ." he said. So they argued
about politics, and Lily looked at the leaf on the
table-cloth; and Mrs. Ramsay, leaving the argu-
ment entirely in the hands of the two men,
wondered why she was so bored by this talk, and
wished, looking at her husband at the other end
of the table, that he would say something. One
word, she said to herself, For if he said a thing,

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