However, punctuality had been impressed on her, and whatever face she had, she must go in to dinner.

These few minutes had been used by Willoughby in sketching to the Dalloways the people they were to meet, and checking them upon his fingers.

“There’s my brother-in-law, Ambrose, the scholar (I daresay you’ve heard his name), his wife, my old friend Pepper, a very quiet fellow, but knows everything, I’m told.  And that’s all.  We’re a very small party.  I’m dropping them on the coast.”

Mrs. Dalloway, with her head a little on one side, did her best to recollect Ambrose—­was it a surname?—­but failed.  She was made slightly uneasy by what she had heard.  She knew that scholars married any one—­girls they met in farms on reading parties; or little suburban women who said disagreeably, “Of course I know it’s my husband you want; not me.”

But Helen came in at that point, and Mrs. Dalloway saw with relief that though slightly eccentric in appearance, she was not untidy, held herself well, and her voice had restraint in it, which she held to be the sign of a lady.  Mr. Pepper had not troubled to change his neat ugly suit.

“But after all,” Clarissa thought to herself as she followed Vinrace in to dinner, “every one’s interesting really.”

When seated at the table she had some need of that assurance, chiefly because of Ridley, who came in late, looked decidedly unkempt, and took to his soup in profound gloom.

An imperceptible signal passed between husband and wife, meaning that they grasped the situation and would stand by each other loyally.  With scarcely a pause Mrs. Dalloway turned to Willoughby and began: 

“What I find so tiresome about the sea is that there are no flowers in it.  Imagine fields of hollyhocks and violets in mid-ocean!  How divine!”

“But somewhat dangerous to navigation,” boomed Richard, in the bass, like the bassoon to the flourish of his wife’s violin.  “Why, weeds can be bad enough, can’t they, Vinrace?  I remember crossing in the Mauretania once, and saying to the Captain—­Richards—­did you know him?—­’Now tell me what perils you really dread most for your ship, Captain Richards?’ expecting him to say icebergs, or derelicts, or fog, or something of that sort.  Not a bit of it.  I’ve always remembered his answer. ‘Sedgius aquatici,’ he said, which I take to be a kind of duck-weed.”

Mr. Pepper looked up sharply, and was about to put a question when Willoughby continued: 

“They’ve an awful time of it—­those captains!  Three thousand souls on board!”

“Yes, indeed,” said Clarissa.  She turned to Helen with an air of profundity.  “I’m convinced people are wrong when they say it’s work that wears one; it’s responsibility.  That’s why one pays one’s cook more than one’s housemaid, I suppose.”

“According to that, one ought to pay one’s nurse double; but one doesn’t,” said Helen.