THE WINDOW

Mrs. Ramsay thought, observing him rather
than listening to what he said. She could see
how it was from his manner—he wanted to assert
himself, and so it would always be with him till
he got his Professorship or married his wife, and
so need not be always saying, " I—I—I." For
that was what his criticism of poor Sir Walter,
or perhaps it was Jane Austen, amounted to.
"I—I—I." He was thinking of himself and
the impression he was making, as she could
tell by the sound of his voice, and his emphasis
and his uneasiness. Success would be good for
him. At anyrate they were off again. Now
jhe need not listen. It could not last she
knew, but at the moment her eyes were so clear
that they seemed to go round the table unveiling
each of these people, and their thoughts and their
feelings, without effort like a light stealing under
water so that its ripples and the reeds in it
and the minnows balancing themselves, and the
sudden silent trout are all lit up hanging, trem-
bling. So she saw them; she heard them; but
whatever they said had also this quality, as if
what they said was like the movement of a trout
when, at the same time, one can see the ripple
and the gravel, something to the right, something
to the left; and the whole is held together; for
whereas in active life she would be netting and