TO THE LIGHTHOUSE

of England—the Red, the Fair, the Wicked, the ;
Ruthless,—she felt how they raged under it, ;
Kind old Mrs. Beckwith said something sensible,
But it was a house full of unrelated passions—she
had felt that all the evening. And on top of this
chaos Mr. Ramsay got up, pressed her hand, and
said: "You will find us much changed7' and
none of them had moved or had spoken; but had;
sat there as if they were forced to let him say it,
Only. James (certainly the Sullen) scowled at the,,
lamp; and Cam screwed her handkerchief round
her finger. Then he reminded them that they
were going to the Lighthouse to-morrow. They
must be ready, in the hall, on the stroke of half-
past seven. Then, with his hand on the door^
he stopped; he turned upon them. Did they net
want to go? he demanded. Had they dared say;
No (he had some reason for wanting it) he would!
have flung himself tragically backwards into the!
bitter waters of despair. Such a gift he had1
for gesture. He looked like a king in exile. j
Doggedly James said yes. Cam stumbled more!
wretchedly. Yes, oh yes, they'd both be ready,
they said. And it struck her, this was tragedy— j
not palls, dust, and the shroud; but children,
coerced, their spirits subdued. James was sixteen,
Cam seventeen, perhaps. She had looked round,
for someone who was not there, for Mrs. Ramsay,
230 I