THE WINDOW

for it and Mrs. Ramsay for it and the hour and
the place, crediting the world with a power which
she had not suspected, that one could walk away
down that long gallery not alone any more but
arm in arm with somebody—the strangest feeling
in the world, and the most exhilarating—she
nicked the catch of her paint-box to, more firmly
than was necessary, and the nick seemed to
surround in a circle for ever the paint-box, the
lawn, Mr. Bankes, and that wild villain, Cam,
dashing past.

10

For Cam grazed the easel by an inch; she
would not stop for Mr. Bankes and Lily Briscoe;
though Mr. Bankes, who would have liked a
daughter of his own, held out his hand; she would
not stop for her father, whom she grazed also by
an inch; nor for her mother, who called " Cam!
I want you a moment! " as she dashed past. She
was off like a bird, bullet, or arrow, impelled
by what desire, shot by whom, at what directed,
who could say? What, what? Mrs. Ramsay
pondered, watching her. It might be a vision—
of a shell, of a wheelbarrow, of a fairy kingdom
on the far side of the hedge; or it might be
the glory of speed; no one knew. But when
Mrs, Ramsay called " Cam! " a second time, the

8?