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Updated: June 26, 2025
"How are you, Vinrace?" said Ridley, extending a limp hand as he came in, as though the meeting were melancholy to both, but on the whole more so to him. Willoughby preserved his heartiness, tempered by respect. For the moment nothing was said. "We looked in and saw you laughing," Helen remarked. "Mr. Pepper had just told a very good story." "Pish.
I assure you, you made me think." "I made you think! But why?" "What solitary icebergs we are, Miss Vinrace! How little we can communicate! There are lots of things I should like to tell you about to hear your opinion of. Have you ever read Burke?" "Burke?" she repeated. "Who was Burke?" "No? Well, then I shall make a point of sending you a copy.
None of the stories were good," said her husband peevishly. "Still a severe judge, Ridley?" enquired Mr. Vinrace. "We bored you so that you left," said Ridley, speaking directly to his wife.
She was flushed and looked very happy, and Helen was struck by the fact that in this mood she was certainly more attractive than the generality of young women. She had never noticed it so clearly before. "Enjoying yourself?" she asked, as they stopped for a second. "Miss Vinrace," Arthur answered for her, "has just made a confession; she'd no idea that dances could be so delightful." "Yes!"
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."
Years ago, she continued, it might have been ten or twenty years ago, she remembered meeting Mr. Vinrace at a party, and, being so much struck by his face, which was so unlike the ordinary face one sees at a party, that she had asked who he was, and she was told that it was Mr.
Vinrace, and she had always remembered the name, an uncommon name, and he had a lady with him, a very sweet-looking woman, but it was one of those dreadful London crushes, where you don't talk, you only look at each other, and although she had shaken hands with Mr. Vinrace, she didn't think they had said anything. She sighed very slightly, remembering the past. Then she turned to Mr.
"This is a very familiar position for me!" smiled Mrs. Thornbury. "I have brought out five daughters and they all loved dancing! You love it too, Miss Vinrace?" she asked, looking at Rachel with maternal eyes. "I know I did when I was your age. How I used to beg my mother to let me stay and now I sympathise with the poor mothers but I sympathise with the daughters too!"
Still, there's the mind of the widow the affections; those you leave untouched. But you waste you own." "If the widow goes to her cupboard and finds it bare," Richard answered, "her spiritual outlook we may admit will be affected. If I may pick holes in your philosophy, Miss Vinrace, which has its merits, I would point out that a human being is not a set of compartments, but an organism.
Imagination, Miss Vinrace; use your imagination; that's where you young Liberals fail. Conceive the world as a whole. Now for your second point; when you assert that in trying to set the house in order for the benefit of the young generation I am wasting my higher capabilities, I totally disagree with you. I can conceive no more exalted aim to be the citizen of the Empire.
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