Місіс Деллоуей

           Andthen,astheystoodinthehalltakingyellowglovesfromthebowlonthemalachitetableandHughwasofferingMissBrushwithquiteunnecessarycourtesysomediscardedticketorothercompliment,whichsheloathedfromthedepthsofherheartandblushedbrickred,RichardturnedtoLadyBruton,withhishatinhishand,andsaid,

           “Weshallseeyouatourpartyto-night?”whereuponLadyBrutonresumedthemagnificencewhichletter-writinghadshattered.Shemightcome;orshemightnotcome.Clarissahadwonderfulenergy.PartiesterrifiedLadyBruton.Butthen,shewasgettingold.Sosheintimated,standingatherdoorway;handsome;veryerect;whileherchowstretchedbehindher,andMissBrushdisappearedintothebackgroundwithherhandsfullofpapers.

           AndLadyBrutonwentponderously,majestically,uptoherroom,lay,onearmextended,onthesofa.Shesighed,shesnored,notthatshewasasleep,onlydrowsyandheavy,drowsyandheavy,likeafieldofcloverinthesunshinethishotJuneday,withthebeesgoingroundandaboutandtheyellowbutterflies.AlwaysshewentbacktothosefieldsdowninDevonshire,whereshehadjumpedthebrooksonPatty,herpony,withMortimerandTom,herbrothers.