TO THE LIGHTHOUSEFor, though they had reached the town now and werein the main street, with carts grinding past on thecobbles, still he went on talking, about settlements,and teaching, and working men, and helping our ownclass, and lectures, till she gathered that he had gotback entire self-confidence, had recovered from thecircus, and was about (and now again she liked himwarmly) to tell her — but here, the houses falling awayon both sides, they came out on the quay, and thewhole bay spread before them and Mrs. Ramsay couldnot help exclaiming, ‘Oh, how beautiful!’ For thegreat plateful of blue water was before her; the hoaryLighthouse, distant, austere, in the midst; and on theright, as far as the eye could see, fading and falling,in soft low pleats, the green sand dunes with the wildflowing grasses on them, which always seemed to berunning away into some moon country, uninhabitedof men.

That was the view, she said, stopping, growinggreyer-eyed, that her husband loved.

She paused a moment. But now, she said, artistshad come here. There indeed, only a few paces off,stood one of them, in Panama hat and yellow boots, se-riously, softly, absorbedly, for all that he was watchedby ten little boys, with an air of profound content-ment on his round red face, gazing, and then, when hehad gazed, dipping; imbuing the tip of his brush insome soft mound of green or pink. Since Mr. Paunce-forte had been there, three years before, all the pic-tures were like that, she said, green and grey withlemon-coloured sailing-boats, and pink women onthe beach.

But her grandmother’s friends, she said, glancing18
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