Wragbywasthere，theservants……butspectral，notreallyexisting。Conniewentforwalksinthepark，andinthewoodsthatjoinedthepark，andenjoyedthesolitudeandthemystery，kickingthebrownleavesofautumn，andpickingtheprimrosesofspring。Butitwasalladream；orratheritwaslikethesimulacrumofreality。Theoak-leavesweretoherlikeoak-leavesseenrufflinginamirror，sheherselfwasafiguresomebodyhadreadabout，pickingprimrosesthatwereonlyshadowsormemories，orwords。Nosubstancetoheroranything……notouch，nocontact!OnlythislifewithClifford，thisendlessspinningofwebsofyarn，oftheminutiaeofconsciousness，thesestoriesSirMalcolmsaidtherewasnothingin，andtheywouldn’tlast。Whyshouldtherebeanythinginthem，whyshouldtheylast？Sufficientuntothedayistheevilthereof。Sufficientuntothemomentistheappearanceofreality。
Cliffordhadquiteanumberoffriends，acquaintancesreally，andheinvitedthemtoWragby。Heinvitedallsortsofpeople，criticsandwriters，peoplewhowouldhelptopraisehisbooks。AndtheywereflatteredatbeingaskedtoWragby，andtheypraised。Connieunderstooditallperfectly。
Butwhynot？Thiswasoneofthefleetingpatternsinthemirror。Whatwaswrongwithit？
Shewashostesstothesepeople……mostlymen。ShewashostessalsotoClifford’soccasionalaristocraticrelations。Beingasoft，ruddy，country-lookinggirl，inclinedtofreckles，withbigblueeyes，andcurling，brownhair，andasoftvoice，andratherstrong，femaleloinsshewasconsideredalittleold-fashionedand`womanly’。Shewasnota`littlepilchardsortoffish’，likeaboy，withaboy’sflatbreastandlittlebuttocks。Shewastoofemininetobequitesmart。
Sothemen，especiallythosenolongeryoung，wereverynicetoherindeed。But，knowingwhattorturepoorCliffordwouldfeelattheslightestsignofflirtingonherpart，shegavethemnoencouragementatall。Shewasquietandvague，shehadnocontactwiththemandintendedtohavenone。Cliffordwasextraordinarilyproudofhimself。