THE LIGHTHOUSE

thinking of her callousness (she had called him a
play-actor) she felt her eyes swell and tingle with
tears? Thus occupied he seemed to her a figure
of infinite pathos. He tied knots. He bought
boots. There was no helping Mr, Ramsay
on the journey he was going. But now just
as she wished to say something, could have
said something, perhaps, here they were—Cam
and James. They appeared on the terrace. They
came, lagging, side by side, a serious, melancholy
couple.

But why was it like that that they came? She
could not help feeling annoyed with them; they
might have come more cheerfully; they might
have given him what, now that they were off, she
would not have the chance of giving him. For
she felt a sudden emptiness; a frustration. Her
feeling had come too late; there it was ready;
but he no longer needed it. He had become a
very distinguished, elderly man, who had no need
of her whatsoever. She felt snubbed. He slung
a knapsack round his shoulders. He shared out
the parcels—there were a number of them, ill
tied, in brown paper. He sent Cam for a cloak.
He had all the appearance of a leader making
ready for an expedition. Then, wheeling about,
he led the way with his firm military tread, in those
wonderful boots, carrying brown paper parcels,

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