Місіс Деллоуей

           AsforBuckinghamPalace(likeanoldprimadonnafacingtheaudienceallinwhite)youcan’tdenyitacertaindignity,heconsidered,nordespisewhatdoes,afterall,standtomillionsofpeople(alittlecrowdwaswaitingatthegatetoseetheKingdriveout)forasymbol,absurdthoughitis;achildwithaboxofbrickscouldhavedonebetter,hethought;lookingatthememorialtoQueenVictoria(whomhecouldrememberinherhornspectaclesdrivingthroughKensington),itswhitemound,itsbillowingmotherliness;buthelikedbeingruledbythedescendantofHorsa;helikedcontinuity;andthesenseofhandingonthetraditionsofthepast.Itwasagreatageinwhichtohavelived.Indeed,hisownlifewasamiracle;lethimmakenomistakeaboutit;herehewas,intheprimeoflife,walkingtohishouseinWestminstertotellClarissathathelovedher.Happinessisthishethought.

           Itisthis,hesaid,asheenteredDean’sYard.BigBenwasbeginningtostrike,firstthewarning,musical;thenthehour,irrevocable.Lunchpartieswastetheentireafternoon,hethought,approachinghisdoor.

           ThesoundofBigBenfloodedClarissa’sdrawing-room,whereshesat,eversoannoyed,atherwriting-table;worried;annoyed.ItwasperfectlytruethatshehadnotaskedEllieHendersontoherparty;butshehaddoneitonpurpose.NowMrs.Marshamwrote“shehadtoldEllieHendersonshewouldaskClarissa—Elliesomuchwantedtocome.