THE   WINDOW
listened, as if she waited for some habitual sound,
some regular mechanical sound; and then, hearing
something rhythmical, half said, half chanted,
beginning in the garden, as her husband beat up
and down the terrace, something between a croak
and a song, she was soothed once more, assured
again that all was well, and looking down at the
book on her knee found the picture of a pocket
knife with six blades which could only be cut out
if James was very careful.
Suddenly a loud cry, as of a sleep-walker, half
roused, something about
Stormed at with shot and shell
sung out with the utmost intensity in her ear,
made her turn apprehensively to see if any one
heard him. Only Lily Briscoc, she was glad to
find; and that did not matter. But the sight
of the girl standing on the edge of the lawn
painting reminded her; she was supposed to be
keeping her head as much in the same position
as possible for Lily's picture, Lily's picture I
Mrs. Ramsay smiled. With her little Chinese
eyes and her puckered-up face she would never
marry; one could not take her painting very
seriously; but she was an independent little
creature, Mrs. Ramsay liked her for it, and so
remembering her promise, she bent her head,
3*