"Well?" she said, echoing his smile dreamily, looking up from herbook.

　　As with your shadow I with these did play,she murmured, putting the book on the table.

　　What had happened, she wondered, as she took up her knitting, sinceshe had seen him alone? She remembered dressing, and seeing themoon; Andrew holding his plate too high at dinner; being depressed bysomething William had said; the birds in the trees; the sofa on the landing;the children being awake; Charles Tansley waking them with hisbooks falling—oh, no, that she had invented; and Paul having a wash-leather case for his watch. Which should she tell him about?

　　"They're engaged," she said, beginning to knit, "Paul and Minta.""So I guessed," he said. There was nothing very much to be said aboutit. Her mind was still going up and down, up and down with the poetry;he was still feeling very vigorous, very forthright, after reading aboutSteenie's funeral. So they sat silent. Then she became aware that shewanted him to say something.

　　Anything, anything, she thought, going on with her knitting. Anythingwill do.

　　"How nice it would be to marry a man with a wash-leather bag for hiswatch," she said, for that was the sort of joke they had together.

　　He snorted. He felt about this engagement as he always felt about anyengagement; the girl is much too good for that young man. Slowly itcame into her head, why is it then that one wants people to marry? Whatwas the value, the meaning of things? (Every word they said now wouldbe true.) Do say something, she thought, wishing only to hear his voice.

　　For the shadow, the thing folding them in was beginning, she felt, toclose round her again. Say anything, she begged, looking at him, as if forhelp.