THE WINDOWturn apprehensively to see if any one heard him. OnlyLily Briscoe, she was glad to find; and that did notmatter. But the sight of the girl standing on the edgeof the lawn painting reminded her; she was supposedto be keeping her head as much in the same positionas possible for Lily’s picture. Lily’s picture! Mrs. Ram-say smiled. With her little Chinese eyes and her puck-ered-up face she would never marry; one could nottake her painting very seriously; but she was an inde-pendent little creature, Mrs. Ramsay liked her for it,and so, remembering her promise, she bent her head.4

Indeed, he almost knocked her easel over, comingdown upon her with his hands waving, shouting out‘Boldly we rode and well’, but, mercifully, he turnedsharp, and rode off, to die gloriously she supposedupon the heights of Balaclava. Never was anybody atonce so ridiculous and so alarming. But so long as hekept like that, waving, shouting, she was safe; he wouldnot stand still and look at her picture. And that waswhat Lily Briscoe could not have endured. Even whileshe looked at the mass, at the line, at the colour, atMrs. Ramsay sitting in the window with James, shekept a feeler on her surroundings lest someone shouldcreep up, and suddenly she should find her picturelooked at. But now, with all her senses quickened asthey were, looking, straining, till the colour of thewall and the jacmanna beyond burnt into her eyes,she was aware of someone coming out of the house,coming towards her; but somehow divined, from thefootfall, William Bankes, so that though her brush23
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