But it had been seen; it had been taken from her. This man had shared with her something profoundly intimate. And, thanking Mr. Ramsay for it and Mrs. Ramsay for it and the hour and the place, crediting the world with a power which she had not suspected, that one could walk away down that long gallery not alone any more but arm in arm with somebody⁠—the strangest feeling in the world, and the most exhilarating⁠—she nicked the catch of her paintbox to, more firmly than was necessary, and the nick seemed to surround in a circle forever the paintbox, the lawn, Mr. Bankes, and that wild villain, Cam, dashing past.