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THE WINDOW 115ignorant than she was, because he liked telling hershe was a fool. And so to-night, directly he laughedat her, she was not frightened. Besides, she knew,directly she came into the room, that the miraclehad happened; she wore her golden haze. Some-times she had it; sometimes not. She never knewwhy it came or why it went, or if she had it until shecame into the room and then she knew instantly bythe way some man looked at her. Yes, to-night shehad it, tremendously; she knew that by the way MrRamsay told her not to be a fool. She sat besidehim, smiling.It must have happened then, thought Mrs Ram-say; they are engaged. And for a moment she feltwhat she had never expected to feel again—jealousy.For he, her husband, felt it too—Minta’s glow; heliked these girls, these golden-reddish girls, withsomething flying, something a little wild and harum-scarum about them, who didn’t ‘scrape their hairoff,' weren’t, as he said about poor Lily Briscoe,'skimpy.' There was some quality which she herselfhad not, some lustre, some richness, which attractedhim, amused him, led him to make favourites of girlslike Minta. They might cut his hair for him, plaithim watch-chains, or interrupt him at his work,hailing him (she heard them), 'Come along, Mr Ram-say; it's our turn to beat them now,' and out hecame to play tennis.

But indeed she was not jealous, only, now andthen, when she made herself look in her glass a littleresentful that she had grown old, perhaps, by herown fault. (The bill for the greenhouse and all therest of it.) She was grateful to them for laughing