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- Вирджиния Вульф
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- Миссис Дэллоуэй
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- Стр. 51/96
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Lady
Bruton
preferred
Richard
Dalloway
of
course
.
He
was
made
of
much
finer
material
.
But
she
would
n't
let
them
run
down
her
poor
dear
Hugh
.
She
could
never
forget
his
kindness
--
he
had
been
really
remarkably
kind
--
she
forgot
precisely
upon
what
occasion
.
But
he
had
been
--
remarkably
kind
.
Anyhow
,
the
difference
between
one
man
and
another
does
not
amount
to
much
.
She
had
never
seen
the
sense
of
cutting
people
up
,
as
Clarissa
Dalloway
did
--
cutting
them
up
and
sticking
them
together
again
;
not
at
any
rate
when
one
was
sixty-two
.
She
took
Hugh
's
carnations
with
her
angular
grim
smile
.
There
was
nobody
else
coming
,
she
said
.
She
had
got
them
there
on
false
pretences
,
to
help
her
out
of
a
difficulty
--
"
But
let
us
eat
first
,
"
she
said
.
And
so
there
began
a
soundless
and
exquisite
passing
to
and
fro
through
swing
doors
of
aproned
white-capped
maids
,
handmaidens
not
of
necessity
,
but
adepts
in
a
mystery
or
grand
deception
practised
by
hostesses
in
Mayfair
from
one-thirty
to
two
,
when
,
with
a
wave
of
the
hand
,
the
traffic
ceases
,
and
there
rises
instead
this
profound
illusion
in
the
first
place
about
the
food
--
how
it
is
not
paid
for
;
and
then
that
the
table
spreads
itself
voluntarily
with
glass
and
silver
,
little
mats
,
saucers
of
red
fruit
;
films
of
brown
cream
mask
turbot
;
in
casseroles
severed
chickens
swim
;
coloured
,
undomestic
,
the
fire
burns
;
and
with
the
wine
and
the
coffee
(
not
paid
for
)
rise
jocund
visions
before
musing
eyes
;
gently
speculative
eyes
;
eyes
to
whom
life
appears
musical
,
mysterious
;
eyes
now
kindled
to
observe
genially
the
beauty
of
the
red
carnations
which
Lady
Bruton
(
whose
movements
were
always
angular
)
had
laid
beside
her
plate
,
so
that
Hugh
Whitbread
,
feeling
at
peace
with
the
entire
universe
and
at
the
same
time
completely
sure
of
his
standing
,
said
,
resting
his
fork
,
"
Would
n't
they
look
charming
against
your
lace
?
"
Miss
Brush
resented
this
familiarity
intensely
.
She
thought
him
an
underbred
fellow
.
She
made
Lady
Bruton
laugh
.
Lady
Bruton
raised
the
carnations
,
holding
them
rather
stiffly
with
much
the
same
attitude
with
which
the
General
held
the
scroll
in
the
picture
behind
her
;
she
remained
fixed
,
tranced
.
Which
was
she
now
,
the
General
's
great-grand-daughter
?
great-great-grand-daughter
?
Richard
Dalloway
asked
himself
.
Sir
Roderick
,
Sir
Miles
,
Sir
Talbot
--
that
was
it
.
It
was
remarkable
how
in
that
family
the
likeness
persisted
in
the
women
.
She
should
have
been
a
general
of
dragoons
herself
.
And
Richard
would
have
served
under
her
,
cheerfully
;
he
had
the
greatest
respect
for
her
;
he
cherished
these
romantic
views
about
well-set-up
old
women
of
pedigree
,
and
would
have
liked
,
in
his
good-humoured
way
,
to
bring
some
young
hot-heads
of
his
acquaintance
to
lunch
with
her
;
as
if
a
type
like
hers
could
be
bred
of
amiable
tea-drinking
enthusiasts
!
He
knew
her
country
.
He
knew
her
people
.
There
was
a
vine
,
still
bearing
,
which
either
Lovelace
or
Herrick
--
she
never
read
a
word
poetry
of
herself
,
but
so
the
story
ran
--
had
sat
under
.
Better
wait
to
put
before
them
the
question
that
bothered
her
(
about
making
an
appeal
to
the
public
;
if
so
,
in
what
terms
and
so
on
)
,
better
wait
until
they
have
had
their
coffee
,
Lady
Bruton
thought
;
and
so
laid
the
carnations
down
beside
her
plate
.
"
How
's
Clarissa
?
"
she
asked
abruptly
.
Clarissa
always
said
that
Lady
Bruton
did
not
like
her
.
Indeed
,
Lady
Bruton
had
the
reputation
of
being
more
interested
in
politics
than
people
;
of
talking
like
a
man
;
of
having
had
a
finger
in
some
notorious
intrigue
of
the
eighties
,
which
was
now
beginning
to
be
mentioned
in
memoirs
.
Certainly
there
was
an
alcove
in
her
drawing-room
,
and
a
table
in
that
alcove
,
and
a
photograph
upon
that
table
of
General
Sir
Talbot
Moore
,
now
deceased
,
who
had
written
there
(
one
evening
in
the
eighties
)
in
Lady
Bruton
's
presence
,
with
her
cognisance
,
perhaps
advice
,
a
telegram
ordering
the
British
troops
to
advance
upon
an
historical
occasion
.
(
She
kept
the
pen
and
told
the
story
.
)
Thus
,
when
she
said
in
her
offhand
way
"
How
's
Clarissa
?
"
husbands
had
difficulty
in
persuading
their
wives
and
indeed
,
however
devoted
,
were
secretly
doubtful
themselves
,
of
her
interest
in
women
who
often
got
in
their
husbands
'
way
,
prevented
them
from
accepting
posts
abroad
,
and
had
to
be
taken
to
the
seaside
in
the
middle
of
the
session
to
recover
from
influenza
.
Nevertheless
her
inquiry
,
"
How
's
Clarissa
?
"
was
known
by
women
infallibly
,
to
be
a
signal
from
a
well-wisher
,
from
an
almost
silent
companion
,
whose
utterances
(
half
a
dozen
perhaps
in
the
course
of
a
lifetime
)
signified
recognition
of
some
feminine
comradeship
which
went
beneath
masculine
lunch
parties
and
united
Lady
Bruton
and
Mrs.
Dalloway
,
who
seldom
met
,
and
appeared
when
they
did
meet
indifferent
and
even
hostile
,
in
a
singular
bond
.
