Well then, Nancy had gone with them, Mrs Ramsay supposed, wondering,as she put down a brush, took up a comb, and said “Come in” to atap at the door (Jasper and Rose came in), whether the fact that Nancywas with them made it less likely or more likely that anything wouldhappen; —
it made it less likely, somehow, Mrs Ramsay felt, very irrationally,except that after all holocaust on such a scale was not probable.
They could not all be drowned. And again she felt alone in the presenceof her old antagonist, life.
Jasper and Rose said that Mildred wanted to know whether sheshould wait dinner.
“Not for the Queen of England,” said Mrs Ramsay emphatically.
“Not for the Empress of Mexico,” she added, laughing at Jasper; —
for heshared his mother’s vice: he, too, exaggerated.
And if Rose liked, she said, while Jasper took the message, she mightchoose which jewels she was to wear. —
When there are fifteen people sittingdown to dinner, one cannot keep things waiting for ever. —
She wasnow beginning to feel annoyed with them for being so late; —
it was inconsiderateof them, and it annoyed her on top of her anxiety about them,that they should choose this very night to be out late, when, in fact, shewished the dinner to be particularly nice, since William Bankes had atlast consented to dine with them; —
and they were having Mildred’s masterpiece—BOEUF EN DAUBE. Everything depended upon things beingserved up to the precise moment they were ready. —
The beef, the bayleaf,and the wine—all must be done to a turn. —
To keep it waiting was out ofthe question. —
Yet of course tonight, of all nights, out they went, and theycame in late, and things had to be sent out, things had to be kept hot; —
theBOEUF EN DAUBE would be entirely spoilt.
Jasper offered her an opal necklace; Rose a gold necklace. —
Whichlooked best against her black dress? —
Which did indeed, said Mrs Ramsayabsent-mindedly, looking at her neck and shoulders (but avoiding her
face) in the glass. And then, while the children rummaged among herthings, she looked out of the window at a sight which always amusedher—the rooks trying to decide which tree to settle on. —
Every time, theyseemed to change their minds and rose up into the air again, because,she thought, the old rook, the father rook, old Joseph was her name forhim, was a bird of a very trying and difficult disposition. —
He was a disreputableold bird, with half his wing feathers missing. —
He was like someseedy old gentleman in a top hat she had seen playing the horn in frontof a public house.
“Look!” she said, laughing. They were actually fighting. Joseph andMary were fighting. —
Anyhow they all went up again, and the air wasshoved aside by their black wings and cut into exquisite scimitar shapes.
The movements of the wings beating out, out, out—she could never describeit accurately enough to please herself—was one of the loveliest ofall to her. —
Look at that, she said to Rose, hoping that Rose would see itmore clearly than she could. —
For one’s children so often gave one’s ownperceptions a little thrust forwards.
But which was it to be? They had all the trays of her jewel-case open.
The gold necklace, which was Italian, or the opal necklace, which UncleJames had brought her from India; —
or should she wear her amethysts?
“Choose, dearests, choose,” she said, hoping that they would makehaste.
But she let them take their time to choose: —
she let Rose, particularly,take up this and then that, and hold her jewels against the black dress,for this little ceremony of choosing jewels, which was gone throughevery night, was what Rose liked best, she knew. —
She had some hiddenreason of her own for attaching great importance to this choosing whather mother was to wear. —
What was the reason, Mrs Ramsay wondered,standing still to let her clasp the necklace she had chosen, divining,through her own past, some deep, some buried, some quite speechlessfeeling that one had for one’s mother at Rose’s age. —
Like all feelings feltfor oneself, Mrs Ramsay thought, it made one sad. —
It was so inadequate,what one could give in return; —
and what Rose felt was quite out of proportionto anything she actually was. —
And Rose would grow up; —
andRose would suffer, she supposed, with these deep feelings, and she saidshe was ready now, and they would go down, and Jasper, because hewas the gentleman, should give her his arm, and Rose, as she was thelady, should carry her handkerchief (she gave her the handkerchief), andwhat else? —
oh, yes, it might be cold: a shawl. Choose me a shawl, she
said, for that would please Rose, who was bound to suffer so. —
“There,“she said, stopping by the window on the landing, “there they are again.” —
Joseph had settled on another tree-top. “Don’t you think they mind,” shesaid to Jasper, “having their wings broken?” —
Why did he want to shootpoor old Joseph and Mary? —
He shuffled a little on the stairs, and felt rebuked,but not seriously, for she did not understand the fun of shootingbirds; —
and they did not feel; and being his mother she lived away in anotherdivision of the world, but he rather liked her stories about Maryand Joseph. —
She made him laugh. But how did she know that those wereMary and Joseph? —
Did she think the same birds came to the same treesevery night? he asked. —
But here, suddenly, like all grown-up people, sheceased to pay him the least attention. —
She was listening to a clatter in thehall.
“They’ve come back!” she exclaimed, and at once she felt much moreannoyed with them than relieved. —
Then she wondered, had it happened?
She would go down and they would tell her—but no. —
They could not tellher anything, with all these people about. —
So she must go down and begindinner and wait. —
And, like some queen who, finding her peoplegathered in the hall, looks down upon them, and descends among them,and acknowledges their tributes silently, and accepts their devotion andtheir prostration before her (Paul did not move a muscle but lookedstraight before him as she passed) she went down, and crossed the halland bowed her head very slightly, as if she accepted what they could notsay: —
their tribute to her beauty.
But she stopped. There was a smell of burning. Could they have let theBOEUF EN DAUBE overboil? —
she wondered, pray heaven not! when thegreat clangour of the gong announced solemnly, authoritatively, that allthose scattered about, in attics, in bedrooms, on little perches of theirown, reading, writing, putting the last smooth to their hair, or fasteningdresses, must leave all that, and the little odds and ends on theirwashing-tables and dressing tables, and the novels on the bed-tables,and the diaries which were so private, and assemble in the dining-roomfor dinner.