It didn’t matter, any of it, she thought. A greatman, a great book, fame—who could tell? She knewnothing about it. But it was his way with him, histruthfulness—for instance at dinner she had beenthinking quite instinctively, If only he would speak!She had complete trust in him. And dismissing allthis, as one passes in diving now a weed, now a straw,now a bubble, she felt again, sinking deeper, as shehad felt in the hall when the others were talking,There is something I want—something I have cometo get, and she fell deeper and deeper without know-ing quite what it was, with her eyes closed. Andshe waited a little, knitting, wondering, and slowlythose words they had said at dinner, ‘the China roseis all abloom and buzzing with the honey bee,’ beganwashing from side to side of her mind rhythmically,and as they washed, words, like little shaded lights,one red, one blue, one yellow, lit up in the dark of hermind, and seemed leaving their perches up there tofly across and across, or to cry out and to be echoed;