TO THE LIGHTHOUSEindeed, but no man would, she feared. Obviously,not, unless it were a much older man, like WilliamBankes. But then he cared, well, Mrs. Ramsaysometimes thought that he cared, since his wife’sdeath, 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 butnonsense, she thought; William must marry Lily.They have so many things in common. Lily isso fond of flowers. They are both cold and aloofand rather self-sufficing. She must arrange forthem to take a long walk together.

Foolishly, she had set them opposite eachother. That could be remedied to-morrow. Ifit 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 theywere all talking about boots) just now she hadreached security; she hovered like a hawksuspended; like a flag floated in an element ofjoy which filled every nerve of her body fully andsweetly, not noisily, solemnly rather, for it arose,she thought, looking at them all eating there,from husband and children and friends; all ofwhich rising in this profound stillness (she washelping William Bankes to one very small piecemore and peered into the depths of the earthen-162
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