Місіс Деллоуей

           Sheheardahanduponthedoor.Shemadetohideherdress,likeavirginprotectingchastity,respectingprivacy.Nowthebrassknobslipped.Nowthedooropened,andincame—forasinglesecondshecouldnotrememberwhathewascalled!sosurprisedshewastoseehim,soglad,soshy,soutterlytakenabacktohavePeterWalshcometoherunexpectedlyinthemorning!(Shehadnotreadhisletter.)

           “Andhowareyou?”saidPeterWalsh,positivelytrembling;takingbothherhands;kissingbothherhands.She’sgrownolder,hethought,sittingdown.Ishan’ttellheranythingaboutit,hethought,forshe’sgrownolder.She’slookingatme,hethought,asuddenembarrassmentcomingoverhim,thoughhehadkissedherhands.Puttinghishandintohispocket,hetookoutalargepocket-knifeandhalfopenedtheblade.

           Exactlythesame,thoughtClarissa;thesamequeerlook;thesamechecksuit;alittleoutofthestraighthisfaceis,alittlethinner,dryer,perhaps,buthelooksawfullywell,andjustthesame.

           “Howheavenlyitistoseeyouagain!”sheexclaimed.Hehadhisknifeout.That’ssolikehim,shethought.

           Hehadonlyreachedtownlastnight,hesaid;wouldhavetogodownintothecountryatonce;andhowwaseverything,howwaseverybody—Richard?Elizabeth?

           “Andwhat’sallthis?”hesaid,tiltinghispen-knifetowardshergreendress.

           He’sverywelldressed,thoughtClarissa;yethealwayscriticisesME.