He moved one shoulder impatiently, and the vase he had played with, fell into the hearth and was smashed.

“Damn. There was never any chance of that, mater. Sorry about the vase. Was it valuable?”

“No, not a bit, I hated it. Break its twin.”

He obeyed, absent-mindedly. Mrs. Ramsay watched the work of destruction with great interest. Then Stephen began to laugh.

“Mater, how mad!”

“Yes, but doesn’t china make a fascinating sound when it smashes? Can’t we break anything else?”

“No, not to-day. Come down to Queen’s Halt next week and we’ll break those awful china dogs Cousin Freda sent us.”

“What a splendid idea, Stephen! We might break the Crown Derby plates too.”

“No, we can’t do that,” he objected. “Not Crown Derby. I don’t think I could.”

“Think how blatant they are, Stephen. I’m sure I could.”

“I know. Still . . . They’re too good to break.”

“That makes it all the more exciting. We’d feel so wicked,” she said, dimpling. The dimples disappeared. “Elizabeth wouldn’t understand about smashing china, darling, would she?”

Chapter Seven

It was inconceivable that you could like a man and not his nearest relations. Excuses had to be found for Mrs. Ramsay and were quickly forthcoming. She was eccentric; it was deplorable, but an excuse; she was absent-minded: a fault, but one that made her the more attractive. Lawrence located her in Debrett; she came of ancient stock, and not only had she married into the County, but she was herself County. Lawrence realized to the full the significance of this magic word; it was better in these days to be County than Titled. Mrs. Ramsay’s eccentricity pointed to no lack of breeding, but rather to her nobility. Miss Arden said that it was refreshing to meet anyone so delightfully unconventional.

In an introspective mood Elizabeth knew herself to be drifting towards an alien pool. There was no mistaking Stephen’s ardour; it was obvious to all, so obvious that sly jokes were cut by Lawrence and Aunt Anne at her expense. About Stephen there could be nothing alien, but in the world where he dwelt was Cynthia, incomprehensible in her speech and manners, and Mrs. Ramsay, incomprehensible too, and from Elizabeth, poles apart.

Elizabeth felt it dimly, then thought herself morbid in her imaginings. She was bred in an atmosphere of class-distinction; she knew that in Miss Arden’s eyes she stood upon the brink of a successful marriage. She had thought about it many times, seeing herself the wife of a famous novelist, hearing herself referred to as County. It was snobbery, she knew, and scolded herself for indulging the vice, but the secret thrill remained, dominating her judgment.

In Miss Arden’s attitude towards her was a new tenderness; did she forget some trifling behest or errand, Miss Arden would smile mysteriously and say, We’re very forgetful nowadays, aren’t we? with no annoyance, hut an evident satisfaction.