his name. He's indescribably insignificant, and rather queer in
his temper, poor dear. It's like sitting down to dinner with an
ill-conditioned fox-terrier, only one can't comb him out, and sprinkle
him with powder, as one would one's dog. It's a pity, sometimes, one
can't treat people like dogs! The great comfort is that we're away from
newspapers, so that Richard will have a real holiday this time. Spain
wasn't a holiday. . . .

"You coward!" said Richard, almost filling the room with his sturdy
figure.

"I did my duty at dinner!" cried Clarissa.

"You've let yourself in for the Greek alphabet, anyhow."

"Oh, my dear! Who _is_ Ambrose?"

"I gather that he was a Cambridge don; lives in London now, and edits
classics."

"Did you ever see such a set of cranks? The woman asked me if I thought
her husband looked like a gentleman!"

"It was hard to keep the ball rolling at dinner, certainly," said
Richard. "Why is it that the women, in that class, are so much queerer
than the men?"

"They're not half bad-looking, really--only--they're so odd!"

They both laughed, thinking of the same things, so that there was no
need to compare their impressions.

"I see I shall have quite a lot to say to Vinrace," said Richard. "He
knows Sutton and all that set. He can tell me a good deal about the
conditions of ship-building in the North."

"Oh, I'm glad. The men always _are_ so much better than the women."

"One always has something to say to a man certainly," said Richard.
"But I've no doubt you'll chatter away fast enough about the babies,
Clarice."

"Has she got children? She doesn't look like it somehow."

"Two. A boy and girl."

A pang of envy shot through Mrs. Dalloway's heart.

"We _must_ have a son, Dick," she said.

"Good Lord, what opportunities there are now for young men!" said
Dalloway, for his talk had set him thinking. "I don't suppose there's
been so good an opening since the days of Pitt."

"And it's yours!" said Clarissa.

"To be a leader of men," Richard soliloquised. "It's a fine career. My
God--what a career!"

The chest slowly curved beneath his waistcoat.

"D'you know, Dick, I can't help thinking of England," said his wife
meditatively, leaning her head against his chest. "Being on this ship
seems to make it so much more vivid--what it really means to be English.
One thinks of all we've done, and our navies, and the people in India
and Africa, and how we've gone on century after centur