TO THE LIGHTHOUSE

indeed, but no man would, she feared. Obviously,
not, unless it were a much older man, like William
Bankes. But then he cared, well, Mrs, Ramsay
sometimes thought that he cared, since his wife's
death, perhaps for her. He was not " in love "
of course; it was one of those unclassified affec-
tions of which there are so many. Oh but
nonsense, she thought; William must marry Lily.
They have so many things in common. Lily is
so fond of flowers. They are both cold and aloof
and rather self-sufficing. She must arrange for
them to take a long walk together.

Foolishly, she had set them opposite each
other. That could be remedied to-morrow. If i
it were fine, they should go for a picnic. Every-
thing seemed possible. Everything seemed right* /
Just now (but this cannot last, she thought,
dissociating herself from the moment while they
were all talking about boots) just now she had
reached security; she hovered like a hawk
suspended; like a flag floated in an element ofj
joy which filled every nerve of her body fully andi
sweetly, not noisily, solemnly rather, for it aroseu
she thought, looking at them all eating there>r
from husband and children and friends; all ot-
which rising in this profound stillness (she wast
helping William Bankes to one very small piece e
more and peered into the depths of the earthen-^s
162