THE WINDOW 111and their marriage, and she glowed all over withoutrealizing that it was she herself who had praised him.She looked at him thinking to find this shown in hisface; he would be looking magnificent. . . . But not inthe least! He was screwing his face up, he wasscowling and frowning, and flushing with anger.What on earth was it about? she wondered. Whatcould be the matter? Only that poor old Augustushad asked for another plate of soup—that was all. Itwas unthinkable, it was detestable (so he signalled toher across the table) that Augustus should be begin-ning his soup over again. He loathed people eatingwhen he had finished. She saw his anger fly like apack of hounds into his eyes, his brow, and she knewthat in a moment something violent would explode,and then—but thank goodness! she saw him clutchhimself and clap a brake on the wheel, and the wholeof his body seemed to emit sparks but not words. Hesat there scowling. He had said nothing, he wouldhave her observe. Let her give him the credit forthat! But why after all should poor Augustus notask for another plate of soup? He had merelytouched Ellen's arm and said:‘Ellen, please, another plate of soup,’ and then MrRamsay scowled like that.And why not? Mrs Ramsay demanded. Surelythey could let Augustus have his soup if he wanted it.He hated people wallowing in food, Mr Ramsayfrowned at her. He hated everything dragging onfor hours like this. But he had controlled himself,Mr Ramsay would have her observe, disgustingthough the sight was. But why show it so plainly,Mrs Ramsay demanded (they looked at each other,
