THE WINDOW

How could she be such a goose, he asked, as
to scramble about the rocks in jewels?

She was by way of being terrified of him—he
was so fearfully clever, and the first night when
she had sat by him, and he talked about George
Eliot, she had been really frightened, for she had
left the third volume of Middlemarch in the train
and she never knew what happened in the end;
but afterwards she got on perfectly, and made
herself out even more ignorant than she was,
because he liked telling her she was a fool. And
so to-night, directly he laughed at her, she was
not frightened. Besides, she knew, directly she
came into the room, that the miracle had happened;
she wore her golden haze. Sometijnes she had it;
sometimes not. She never knew why it came or
why it went, or if she had it until she came into
the room and then she knew instantly by the way
some man looked at her. Yes, to-night she had
it, tremendously; she knew that by the way Mr.
Ramsay told her not to be a fool. She sat beside
him, smiling.

It must have happened then, thought Mrs.
Ramsay; they are engaged. And for a moment
she felt what she had never expected to feel again
—-jealousy. For he, her husband, felt it too—
Minta's glow; he liked these girls, these golden-
reddish girls, with something flying, something a

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