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Chapter 17

           Butperhapshewasratherunusual,hethought,inthis;heneverlethimselfgetintoagroove.Hehadfriendsinallcircles...Mrs.Ramsayhadtobreakoffheretotellthemaidsomethingaboutkeepingfoodhot.Thatwaswhyhepreferreddiningalone.Allthoseinterruptionsannoyedhim.Well,thoughtWilliamBankes,preservingademeanourofexquisitecourtesyandmerelyspreadingthefingersofhislefthandonthetable-clothasamechanicexaminesatoolbeautifullypolishedandreadyforuseinanintervalofleisure,sucharethesacrificesone’sfriendsaskofone.Itwouldhavehurtherifhehadrefusedtocome.Butitwasnotworthitforhim.Lookingathishandhethoughtthatifhehadbeenalonedinnerwouldhavebeenalmostovernow;hewouldhavebeenfreetowork.Yes,hethought,itisaterriblewasteoftime.Thechildrenweredroppinginstill."IwishoneofyouwouldrunuptoRoger’sroom,"Mrs.Ramsaywassaying.Howtriflingitallis,howboringitallis,hethought,comparedwiththeotherthing—work.Herehesatdrumminghisfingersonthetable-clothwhenhemighthavebeen—hetookaflashingbird’s-eyeviewofhiswork.Whatawasteoftimeitallwastobesure!Yet,hethought,sheisoneofmyoldestfriends.Iambywayofbeingdevotedtoher.Yetnow,atthismomentherpresencemeantabsolutelynothingtohim:herbeautymeantnothingtohim;hersittingwithherlittleboyatthewindow—nothing,nothing.Hewishedonlytobealoneandtotakeupthatbook.

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