THE WINDOW 137the other thing, and tickled by the absurdity of herthought (how lucky to marry a man with a wash-

leather bag for his watch) she went with a smile on

her lips into the other room, where her husband sat

reading.19

Of course, she said to herself, coming into the room,she had to come here to get something she wanted.First she wanted to sit down in a particular chairunder a particular lamp. But she wanted somethingmore, though she did not know, could not think whatit was that she wanted. She looked at her husband(taking up her stocking and beginning to knit), andsaw that he did not want to be interrupted—that wasclear. He was reading something that moved himvery much. He was half smiling and then she knewhe was controlling his emotion. He was tossing thepages over. He was acting it—perhaps he wasthinking himself the person in the book. She won-dered what book it was. Oh, it was one of old SirWalter’s, she saw, adjusting the shade of her lampso that the light fell on her knitting. For CharlesTansley had been saying (she looked up as if sheexpected to hear the crash of books on the floorabove)—had been saying that people don’t read Scottany more. Then her husband thought: ‘That ’swhat they’ll say of me'; so he went and got one ofthose books. And if he came to the conclusion'That's true' what Charles Tansley said, he wouldaccept it about Scott. (She could see that he wasweighing, considering, putting this with that as heread.) But not about himself. He was always
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