Rachel had other questions on the tip of her tongue; or rather one
enormous question, which she did not in the least know how to put into
words. The talk appeared too airy to admit of it.

"Please tell me--everything." That was what she wanted to say. He had
drawn apart one little chink and showed astonishing treasures. It seemed
to her incredible that a man like that should be willing to talk to her.
He had sisters and pets, and once lived in the country. She stirred her
tea round and round; the bubbles which swam and clustered in the cup
seemed to her like the union of their minds.

The talk meanwhile raced past her, and when Richard suddenly stated in a
jocular tone of voice, "I'm sure Miss Vinrace, now, has secret leanings
towards Catholicism," she had no idea what to answer, and Helen could
not help laughing at the start she gave.

However, breakfast was over and Mrs. Dalloway was rising. "I always
think religion's like collecting beetles," she said, summing up the
discussion as she went up the stairs with Helen. "One person has a
passion for black beetles; another hasn't; it's no good arguing about
it. What's _your_ black beetle now?"

"I suppose it's my children," said Helen.

"Ah--that's different," Clarissa breathed. "Do tell me. You have a boy,
haven't you? Isn't it detestable, leaving them?"

It was as though a blue shadow had fallen across a pool. Their eyes
became deeper, and their voices more cordial. Instead of joining them
as they began to pace the deck, Rachel was indignant with the prosperous