ad heard. She knew that scholars married any
one--girls they met in farms on reading parties; or little suburban
women who said disagreeably, "Of course I know it's my husband you want;
not _me_."

But Helen came in at that point, and Mrs. Dalloway saw with relief
that though slightly eccentric in appearance, she was not untidy, held
herself well, and her voice had restraint in it, which she held to be
the sign of a lady. Mr. Pepper had not troubled to change his neat ugly
suit.

"But after all," Clarissa thought to herself as she followed Vinrace in
to dinner, "_every_ _one's_ interesting really."

When seated at the table she had some need of that assurance, chiefly
because of Ridley, who came in late, looked decidedly unkempt, and took
to his soup in profound gloom.

An imperceptible signal passed between husband and wife, meaning that
they grasped the situation and would stand by each other loyally. With
scarcely a pause Mrs. Dalloway turned to Willoughby and began:

"What I find so tiresome about the sea is that there are no flowers in
it. Imagine fields of hollyhocks and violets in mid-ocean! How divine!"

"But somewhat dangerous to navigation," boomed Richard, in the bass,
like the bassoon to the flourish of his wife's violin. "Why, weeds
can be bad enough, can't they, Vinrace? I remember crossing in the
_Mauretania_ once, and saying to the Captain--Richards--did you know
him?--'Now tell me what perils you really dread most for your ship,
Captain Richards?' expecting him to say icebergs, or derelicts, or fog,
or something of that sort. Not a bit of it. I've always remembered his
answer. '_Sedgius_ _aquatici_,' he said, which I take to be a kind of
duck-weed."

Mr. Pepper looked up sharply, and was about to put a question when
Willoughby continued:

"They've an awful time of it--those captains! Three thousand souls on
board!"

"Yes, indeed," said Clarissa. She turned to Helen with an air of
profundity. "I'm convinced people are wrong when they say it's work that
wears one; it's responsibility. That's why one pays one's cook more than
one's housemaid, I suppose."

"According to that, one ought to pay one's nurse double; but one
doesn't," said Helen.

"No; but think what a joy to have to do with babies, instead of
saucepans!" said Mrs. Dalloway, looking with more interest at Helen, a
probable mother.

"I'd much rather be a cook than a nurse," said Helen. "Nothing would
induce me to take charge of ch