For Cam grazed the easel by an inch; she would not stop for Mr Bankes
and Lily Briscoe; though Mr Bankes, who would have liked a daughter
of his own, held out his hand; she would not stop for her father, whom
she grazed also by an inch; nor for her mother, who called "Cam! I want
you a moment!" as she dashed past. She was off like a bird, bullet, or arrow,
impelled by what desire, shot by whom, at what directed, who
could say? What, what? Mrs Ramsay pondered, watching her. It might
be a vision—of a shell, of a wheelbarrow, of a fairy kingdom on the far
side of the hedge; or it might be the glory of speed; no one knew. But
when Mrs Ramsay called "Cam!" a second time, the projectile dropped in
mid career, and Cam came lagging back, pulling a leaf by the way, to her
mother.
What was she dreaming about, Mrs Ramsay wondered, seeing her engrossed,
as she stood there, with some thought of her own, so that she
had to repeat the message twice—ask Mildred if Andrew, Miss Doyle,
and Mr Rayley have come back?—The words seemed to be dropped into
a well, where, if the waters were clear, they were also so extraordinarily
distorting that, even as they descended, one saw them twisting about to
make Heaven knows what pattern on the floor of the child's mind. What
message would Cam give the cook? Mrs Ramsay wondered. And indeed
it was only by waiting patiently, and hearing that there was an old woman
in the kitchen with very red cheeks, drinking soup out of a basin,
that Mrs Ramsay at last prompted that parrot-like instinct which had
picked up Mildred's words quite accurately and could now produce
them, if one waited, in a colourless singsong. Shifting from foot to foot,
Cam repeated the words, "No, they haven't, and I've told Ellen to clear
away tea."
Minta Doyle and Paul Rayley had not come back then. That could only
mean, Mrs Ramsay thought, one thing. She must accept him, or she must
refuse him. This going off after luncheon for a walk, even though
Andrew was with them—what could it mean? except that she had decided,
rightly, Mrs Ramsay thought (and she was very, very fond of
46
Minta), to accept that good fellow, who might not be brilliant, but then,
thought Mrs Ramsay, realising that James was tugging at her, to make
her go on reading aloud the Fisherman and his Wife, she did in her own
heart infinitely prefer boobies to clever men who wrote dissertations;
Charles Tansley, for instance. Anyhow it must have happened, one way
or the other, by now.
But she read, "Next morning the wife awoke first, and it was just daybreak,
and from her bed she saw the beautiful country lying before her.
Her husband was still stretching himself… "
But how could Minta say now that she would not have him? Not if she
agreed to spend whole afternoons trapesing about the country
alone—for Andrew would be off after his crabs—but possibly Nancy
was with them. She tried to recall the sight of them standing at the hall
door after lunch. There they stood, looking at the sky, wondering about
the weather, and she had said, thinking partly to cover their shyness,
partly to encourage them to be off (for her sympathies were with Paul),
"There isn't a cloud anywhere within miles," at which she could feel
little Charles Tansley, who had followed them out, snigger. But she did it
on purpose. Whether Nancy was there or not, she could not be certain,
looking from one to the other in her mind's eye.
She read on: "Ah, wife," said the man, "why should we be King? I do
not want to be King." "Well," said the wife, "if you won't be King, I will;
go to the Flounder, for I will be King."
"Come in or go out, Cam," she said, knowing that Cam was attracted
only by the word "Flounder" and that in a moment she would fidget and
fight with James as usual. Cam shot off. Mrs Ramsay went on reading,
relieved, for she and James shared the same tastes and were comfortable
together.
"And when he came to the sea, it was quite dark grey, and the water
heaved up from below, and smelt putrid. Then he went and stood by it
and said,
