"That's what I do it for", she said, speaking aloud, to life. [..]. "Yes, yes, but your parties - what's the sense of your parties?", all she could say was (and nobody could be expected to understand): They're an offering. [..]. But could any man understand what she meant either? About life? She could not imagine Peter or Richard taking the trouble to give a party for no reason whatever. But to go deeper, beneath what people said (and these judgements, how superficial, how fragmentary they are!) in her own mind now, what did it mean to her, this thing called life? Oh, it was very queer. Here was So-and-so in South Kensington; someone up in Bayswater; and somebody else, say, in Mayfair. and she felt quite continuously a sense of their existence; and she felt what a waste; and she felt what a pity; and she felt if only they could be brought together; so she did it. And it was an offering; to combine: to create; but to whom? An offering for the sake of the offering, perhaps. Anyhow, it was her gift.