Clarissa came up, with her perfect manners, like a real hostess,
and wanted to introduce him to some one- spoke as if they had never
met before, which
enraged him. Yet even then he admired her for it. He admired her
courage; her social instinct; he admired her power of carrying things
through. "The perfect hostess," he said to her, whereupon she winced
all over. But he meant her to feel it. He would have done anything to
hurt her after seeing her with Dalloway. So she left him. And he had
a feeling that they were all gathered together in a conspiracy
against him-laughing and talking- behind his back. There he stood by
Miss Parry’s chair as though he had been cut out of wood, he talking
about wild flowers. Never, never had he suffered so infernally! He
must have forgotten even to pretend to listen; at last he woke up; he
saw Miss Parry looking rather disturbed, rather indignant, with her
prominent eyes fixed. He almost cried out that he couldn’t attend
because he was in Hell! People began going out of the room. He heard
them talking about fetching cloaks; about its being cold on the
water, and so on. They were going boating on the lake by
moonlight-one of Sally’s mad ideas. He could hear her describing the
moon. And they all went out. He was left
quite alone.