THE WINDOWeasily, both at the same time; for the story ofthe Fisherman and his Wife was like the bassgently accompanying a tune, which now and thenran up unexpectedly into the melody. And whenshould she be told? If nothing happened, shewould have to speak seriously to Minta. For shecould not go trapesing about all over the country,even if Nancy were with them (she tried again,unsuccessfully, to visualise their backs going downthe path, and to count them). She was responsibleto Minta’s parents—the Owl and the Poker. Hernicknames for them shot into her mind as sheread. The Owl and the Poker—yes, they wouldbe annoyed if they heard—and they were certainto hear—that Minta, staying with the Ramsays,had been seen etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. “Hewore a wig in the House of Commons and she ablyassisted him at the head of the stairs," she repeated,fishing them up out of her mind by a phrase which,coming back from some party, she had made toamuse her husband. Dear, dear, Mrs. Ramsaysaid to herself, how did they produce this in-congruous daughter? this tomboy Minta, with ahole in her stocking? How did she exist in thatportentous atmosphere where the maid was alwaysremoving in a dust-pan the sand that the parrothad scattered, and conversation was almost en-tirely reduced to the exploits—interesting perhaps,91
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