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Lily
stepped
back
to
get
her
canvas
--
so
--
into
perspective
.
It
was
an
odd
road
to
be
walking
,
this
of
painting
.
Out
and
out
one
went
,
further
,
until
at
last
one
seemed
to
be
on
a
narrow
plank
,
perfectly
alone
,
over
the
sea
.
And
as
she
dipped
into
the
blue
paint
,
she
dipped
too
into
the
past
there
.
Now
Mrs.
Ramsay
got
up
,
she
remembered
.
It
was
time
to
go
back
to
the
house
--
time
for
luncheon
.
And
they
all
walked
up
from
the
beach
together
,
she
walking
behind
with
William
Bankes
,
and
there
was
Minta
in
front
of
them
with
a
hole
in
her
stocking
.
How
that
little
round
hole
of
pink
heel
seemed
to
flaunt
itself
before
them
!
How
William
Bankes
deplored
it
,
without
,
so
far
as
she
could
remember
,
saying
anything
about
it
!
It
meant
to
him
the
annihilation
of
womanhood
,
and
dirt
and
disorder
,
and
servants
leaving
and
beds
not
made
at
mid-day
--
all
the
things
he
most
abhorred
.
He
had
a
way
of
shuddering
and
spreading
his
fingers
out
as
if
to
cover
an
unsightly
object
which
he
did
now
--
holding
his
hand
in
front
of
him
.
And
Minta
walked
on
ahead
,
and
presumably
Paul
met
her
and
she
went
off
with
Paul
in
the
garden
.
The
Rayleys
,
thought
Lily
Briscoe
,
squeezing
her
tube
of
green
paint
.
She
collected
her
impressions
of
the
Rayleys
.
Their
lives
appeared
to
her
in
a
series
of
scenes
;
one
,
on
the
staircase
at
dawn
.
Paul
had
come
in
and
gone
to
bed
early
;
Minta
was
late
.
There
was
Minta
,
wreathed
,
tinted
,
garish
on
the
stairs
about
three
o'clock
in
the
morning
.
Paul
came
out
in
his
pyjamas
carrying
a
poker
in
case
of
burglars
.
Minta
was
eating
a
sandwich
,
standing
half-way
up
by
a
window
,
in
the
cadaverous
early
morning
light
,
and
the
carpet
had
a
hole
in
it
.
But
what
did
they
say
?
Lily
asked
herself
,
as
if
by
looking
she
could
hear
them
.
Minta
went
on
eating
her
sandwich
,
annoyingly
,
while
he
spoke
something
violent
,
abusing
her
,
in
a
mutter
so
as
not
to
wake
the
children
,
the
two
little
boys
.
He
was
withered
,
drawn
;
she
flamboyant
,
careless
.
For
things
had
worked
loose
after
the
first
year
or
so
;
the
marriage
had
turned
out
rather
badly
.
And
this
,
Lily
thought
,
taking
the
green
paint
on
her
brush
,
this
making
up
scenes
about
them
,
is
what
we
call
"
knowing
"
people
,
"
thinking
"
of
them
,
"
being
fond
"
of
them
!
Not
a
word
of
it
was
true
;
she
had
made
it
up
;
but
it
was
what
she
knew
them
by
all
the
same
.
She
went
on
tunnelling
her
way
into
her
picture
,
into
the
past
.
Another
time
,
Paul
said
he
"
played
chess
in
coffee-houses
.
"
She
had
built
up
a
whole
structure
of
imagination
on
that
saying
too
.
She
remembered
how
,
as
he
said
it
,
she
thought
how
he
rang
up
the
servant
,
and
she
said
,
"
Mrs.
Rayley
's
out
,
sir
,
"
and
he
decided
that
he
would
not
come
home
either
.
She
saw
him
sitting
in
the
corner
of
some
lugubrious
place
where
the
smoke
attached
itself
to
the
red
plush
seats
,
and
the
waitresses
got
to
know
you
,
and
he
played
chess
with
a
little
man
who
was
in
the
tea
trade
and
lived
at
Surbiton
,
but
that
was
all
Paul
knew
about
him
.
And
then
Minta
was
out
when
he
came
home
and
then
there
was
that
scene
on
the
stairs
,
when
he
got
the
poker
in
case
of
burglars
(
no
doubt
to
frighten
her
too
)
and
spoke
so
bitterly
,
saying
she
had
ruined
his
life
.
At
any
rate
when
she
went
down
to
see
them
at
a
cottage
near
Rickmansworth
,
things
were
horribly
strained
.
Paul
took
her
down
the
garden
to
look
at
the
Belgian
hares
which
he
bred
,
and
Minta
followed
them
,
singing
,
and
put
her
bare
arm
on
his
shoulder
,
lest
he
should
tell
her
anything
.
Minta
was
bored
by
hares
,
Lily
thought
.
But
Minta
never
gave
herself
away
.
She
never
said
things
like
that
about
playing
chess
in
coffee-houses
.
She
was
far
too
conscious
,
far
too
wary
.
But
to
go
on
with
their
story
--
they
had
got
through
the
dangerous
stage
by
now
.
She
had
been
staying
with
them
last
summer
some
time
and
the
car
broke
down
and
Minta
had
to
hand
him
his
tools
.
He
sat
on
the
road
mending
the
car
,
and
it
was
the
way
she
gave
him
the
tools
--
business-like
,
straightforward
,
friendly
--
that
proved
it
was
all
right
now
.
They
were
"
in
love
"
no
longer
;
no
,
he
had
taken
up
with
another
woman
,
a
serious
woman
,
with
her
hair
in
a
plait
and
a
case
in
her
hand
(
Minta
had
described
her
gratefully
,
almost
admiringly
)
,
who
went
to
meetings
and
shared
Paul
's
views
(
they
had
got
more
and
more
pronounced
)
about
the
taxation
of
land
values
and
a
capital
levy
.
Far
from
breaking
up
the
marriage
,
that
alliance
had
righted
it
.
They
were
excellent
friends
,
obviously
,
as
he
sat
on
the
road
and
she
handed
him
his
tools
.
So
that
was
the
story
of
the
Rayleys
,
Lily
thought
.
She
imagined
herself
telling
it
to
Mrs.
Ramsay
,
who
would
be
full
of
curiosity
to
know
what
had
become
of
the
Rayleys
.
She
would
feel
a
little
triumphant
,
telling
Mrs.
Ramsay
that
the
marriage
had
not
been
a
success
.
But
the
dead
,
thought
Lily
,
encountering
some
obstacle
in
her
design
which
made
her
pause
and
ponder
,
stepping
back
a
foot
or
so
,
oh
,
the
dead
!
she
murmured
,
one
pitied
them
,
one
brushed
them
aside
,
one
had
even
a
little
contempt
for
them
.
They
are
at
our
mercy
.
Mrs.
Ramsay
has
faded
and
gone
,
she
thought
.
We
can
over-ride
her
wishes
,
improve
away
her
limited
,
old-fashioned
ideas
.
She
recedes
further
and
further
from
us
.
Mockingly
she
seemed
to
see
her
there
at
the
end
of
the
corridor
of
years
saying
,
of
all
incongruous
things
,
"
Marry
,
marry
!
"
(
sitting
very
upright
early
in
the
morning
with
the
birds
beginning
to
cheep
in
the
garden
outside
)
.
And
one
would
have
to
say
to
her
,
It
has
all
gone
against
your
wishes
.
They
're
happy
like
that
;
I
'm
happy
like
this
.
Life
has
changed
completely
.
