There must have been people who disliked her verymuch, Lily thought (Yes; she realised that the draw-ing-room step was empty, but it had no effect on herwhatever. She did not want Mrs. Ramsay now). â€”People who thought her too sure, too drastic. Also herbeauty offended people probably. How monotonous,they would say, and the same always! They preferredanother type — the dark, the vivacious. Then she wasweak with her husband. She let him make those scenes.Then she was reserved. Nobody knew exactly whathad happened to her. And (to go back to Mr. Car-michael and his dislike) one could not imagine Mrs.Ramsay standing painting, lying reading, a wholemorning on the lawn. It was unthinkable. Withoutsaying a word, the only token of her errand a basketon her arm, she went off to the town, to the poor, tosit in some stuffy little bedroom. Often and often Lilyhad seen her go silently in the midst of some game,some discussion, with her basket on her arm, veryupright. She had noted her return. She had thought,half laughing (she was so methodical with the teacups), half moved (her beauty took one’s breath away),eyes that are closing in pain have looked on you. Youhave been with them there.

And then Mrs. Ramsay would be annoyed becausesomebody was late, or the butter not fresh, or theteapot chipped. And all the time she was saying thatthe butter was not fresh one would be thinking ofGreek temples, and how beauty had been with themthere. She never talked of it — she went, punctually,directly. It was her instinct to go, an instinct like the227