TO THE LIGHTHOUSE

something had happened, someone had blundered.
But she could not for the life of her think
what.

He shivered; he quivered. All his vanity, all
his satisfaction in his own splendour, riding fell as
a thunderbolt, fierce as a hawk at the head of his
men through the valley of death, had been shattered,
destroyed. Stormed at by shot and shell, boldly
we rode and well, flashed through the valley of
death, volleyed and thundered—straight into Lily
Briscoe and William Bankes. He quivered; he
shivered.

Not for the world would she have spoken to
him, realising, from the familiar signs, his eyes
averted, and some curious gathering together of
his person, as if he wrapped himself about and
needed privacy into which to regain his equilib-
rium, that he was outraged and anguished. She
stroked James's head; she transferred to him what
she felt for her husband, and, as she watched him
chalk yellow the white dress shirt of a gentleman
in the Army and Navy Stores catalogue, thought
what a delight it would be to her should he turn
out a great artist; and why should he not? He
had a spfendid foreheacj. Then, looking up, as
her husbatrif'passed h&r once more, she was
relieved to find that the ruin was veiled; domes-
ticity triumphed; custom! crooned its soothing