”

“Well,” said the wife, " if you won't be King, I will;

go to the Flounder, for I will be King. “”

“Come in or go out, Cam,” she said, knowing that Cam was attracted only by the word “Flounder”

and that in a moment she would fidget and fight with James as usual. Cam shot off. Mrs.

Ramsay went on reading, relieved, for she and James shared the same tastes and were comfortable together.

" And when he came to the sea, it was quite dark grey, and the water heaved up from below  

and smelt putrid. Then he went and stood by it and said                 'Flounder, flounder, in the sea                  Come, I pray thee, here to me;

                 For my wife, good Ilsabil                  Wills not as I'd have her will. '

' Well, what does she want then? ' said the Flounder. "

And where were they now? Mrs. Ramsay wondered reading and thinking, quite easily, both at the same time; for the story of the Fisherman and his Wife was like the bass gently accompanying a tune which now and then ran up unexpectedly into the melody. And when should she be told? If nothing happened, she would have to speak seriously to Minta. For she could not go trapesing about all over the country, even if Nancy were with them (she tried again, unsuccessfully, to visualize their backs going down the path, and to count them). She was responsible to Minta's parents -- the Owl and the Poker. Her nicknames for them shot into her mind as she read. The Owl and the Poker -- yes, they would be annoyed if they heard -- and they were certain to hear -- that Minta, staying with the Ramsays, had been seen etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

“ He wore a wig in the House of Commons and she ably assisted 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 to amuse her husband. Dear, dear, Mrs. Ramsay said to herself, how did they produce this incongruous daughter? this tomboy Minta, with a hole in her stocking? How did she exist in that portentous atmosphere where the maid was always removing in a dust-​pan the sand that the parrot had scattered and conversation was almost entirely reduced to the exploits -- interesting  perhaps, but limited after all -- of that bird? Naturally, one had asked her to lunch, tea, dinner, finally to stay with them up at Finlay, which had resulted in some friction with the Owl, her mother, and more calling, and more conversation, and more sand, and really at the end of it, she had told enough lies about parrots to last her a lifetime (so she had said to her husband that night, coming back from the party). However Minta came.... Yes, she came, Mrs. Ramsay thought, suspecting some thorn in the tangle of this thought; and disengaging it found it to be this: a woman had once accused her of “ robbing her of her daughter's affections ”; something Mrs. Doyle had said made her remember that charge again. Wishing to dominate, wishing to interfere, making people do what she wished -- that was the charge against her, and she thought it most unjust. How could she help  

Lighthouse

being “like that” to look at? No one could accuse her of taking pains to impress. She was often ashamed of her own shabbiness. Nor was she domineering, nor was she tyrannical. It was more true about hospitals and drains and the dairy. About things like that she did feel passionately, and would if she had the chance, have liked to take people by the scruff of their necks and make them see. No hospital on the whole island. It was a disgrace.

Milk delivered at your door in London positively brown with dirt. It should be made illegal. A model dairy and a hospital up here -- those two things she would have liked to do, herself. But how? With all these children? When they were older, then perhaps she would have time; when they were all at school.

Oh, but she never wanted James to grow a day older! or Cam either.