Well, let them improve upon that, he thought ashe finished the chapter. He felt that he had beenarguing with somebody, and had got the better ofhim. They could not improve upon that, whateverthey might say; and his own position became moresecure. The lovers were fiddlesticks, he thought,collecting it all in his mind again. That’s fiddle-sticks, that’s first-rate, he thought, putting onething beside another. But he must read it again.He could not remember the whole shape of the thing.He had to keep his judgment in suspense. So hereturned to the other thought—if young men did notcare for this, naturally they did not care for himeither. One ought not to complain, thought MrRamsay, trying to stifle his desire to complain to hiswife that young men did not admire him. But hewas determined; he would not bother her again.