[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第39部分

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had　not　fathomed；　and　the　mystery　of　his　nature　laid　
more　of　a　spell　upon　her　than　she　liked。　Moreover；　she　
could　not　prevent　herself　from　doing　now　what　she　had　
often　blamed　others　of　her　sex　for　doing—from　endowing　
her　friend　with　a　kind　of　heavenly　fire；　and　passing　
her　life　before　it　for　his　sanction。　

Under　this　process；　the　mittee　rather　dwindled　in　
importance；　the　Suffrage　shrank；　she　vowed　she　would　
work　harder　at　the　Italian　language；　she　thought　she　would　
take　up　the　study　of　birds。　But　this　program　for　a　perfect　
life　threatened　to　bee　so　absurd　that　she　very　soon　
caught　herself　out　in　the　evil　habit；　and　was　rehearsing　
her　speech　to　the　mittee　by　the　time　the　chestnut
colored　bricks　of　Russell　Square　came　in　sight。　Indeed；　
she　never　noticed　them。　She　ran　upstairs　as　usual；　and　
was　pletely　awakened　to　reality　by　the　sight　of　Mrs。　
Seal；　on　the　landing　outside　the　office；　inducing　a　very　
large　dog　to　drink　water　out　of　a　tumbler。　

“Miss　Markham　has　already　arrived；”　Mrs。　Seal　remarked；　

with　due　solemnity；　“and　this　is　her　dog。”　

“A　very　fine　dog；　too；”　said　Mary；　patting　him　on　the　
head。　

“Yes。　A　magnificent　fellow；　Mrs。　Seal　agreed。　“A　kind　of　
St。　Bernard；　she　tells　me—so　like　Kit　to　have　a　St。　Bernard。　
And　you　guard　your　mistress　well；　don’t　you；　Sailor？　
You　see　that　wicked　men　don’t　break　into　her　larder　when　
she’s　out　at　HER　work—helping　poor　souls　who　have　lost　
their　way…　。　But　we’re　late—we　must　begin！”　and　scattering　
the　rest　of　the　water　indiscriminately　over　the　floor；　
she　hurried　Mary　into　the　mitteeroom。　

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Night　and　Day　

CHAPTER　XIV　


Mr。　Clacton　was　in　his　glory。　The　machinery　which　he　had　
perfected　and　controlled　was　now　about　to　turn　out　its　
bimonthly　product；　a　mittee　meeting；　and　his　pride　
in　the　perfect　structure　of　these　assemblies　was　great。　
He　loved　the　jargon　of　mitteerooms；　he　loved　the　
way　in　which　the　door　kept　opening　as　the　clock　struck　
the　hour；　in　obedience　to　a　few　strokes　of　his　pen　on　a　
piece　of　paper；　and　when　it　had　opened　sufficiently　often；　
he　loved　to　issue　from　his　inner　chamber　with　documents　
in　his　hands；　visibly　important；　with　a　preoccupied　
expression　on　his　face　that　might　have　suited　a　Prime　
Minister　advancing　to　meet　his　Cabi。　By　his　orders　the　
table　had　been　decorated　beforehand　with　six　sheets　of　
blottingpaper；　with　six　pens；　six　inkpots；　a　tumbler　and　
a　jug　of　water；　a　bell；　and；　in　deference　to　the　taste　of　
the　lady　members；　a　vase　of　hardy　chrysanthemums。　He　
had　already　surreptitiously　straightened　the　sheets　of　
blottingpaper　in　relation　to　the　inkpots；　and　now　stood　
in　front　of　the　fire　engaged　in　conversation　with　Miss　

Markham。　But　his　eye　was　on　the　door；　and　when　Mary　
and　Mrs。　Seal　entered；　he　gave　a　little　laugh　and　observed　
to　the　assembly　which　was　scattered　about　the　
room：　

“I　fancy；　ladies　and　gentlemen；　that　we　are　ready　to　
mence。”　

So　speaking；　he　took　his　seat　at　the　head　of　the　table；　
and　arranging　one　bundle　of　papers　upon　his　right　and　
another　upon　his　left；　called　upon　Miss　Datchet　to　read　
the　minutes　of　the　previous　meeting。　Mary　obeyed。　A　keen　
observer　might　have　wondered　why　it　was　necessary　for　
the　secretary　to　knit　her　brows　so　closely　over　the　tolerably　
matteroffact　statement　before　her。　Could　there　be　
any　doubt　in　her　mind　that　it　had　been　resolved　to　circularize　
the　provinces　with　Leaflet　No。　3；　or　to　issue　a　statistical　
diagram　showing　the　proportion　of　married　women　
to　spinsters　in　New　Zealand；　or　that　the　　profits　of　
Mrs。　Hipsley’s　Bazaar　had　reached　a　total　of　five　pounds　
eight　shillings　and　twopence　halfpenny？　

Could　any　doubt　as　to　the　perfect　sense　and　propriety　
of　these　statements　be　disturbing　her？　No　one　could　have　

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Virginia　Woolf　

guessed；　from　the　look　of　her；　that　she　was　disturbed　at　
all。　A　pleasanter　and　saner　woman　than　Mary　Datchet　
was　never　seen　within　a　mitteeroom。　She　seemed　a　
pound　of　the　autumn　leaves　and　the　winter　sunshine；　
less　poetically　speaking；　she　showed　both　gentleness　and　
strength；　an　indefinable　promise　of　soft　maternity　blending　
with　her　evident　fitness　for　honest　labor。　Nevertheless；　
she　had　great　difficulty　in　reducing　her　mind　to　
obedience；　and　her　reading　lacked　conviction；　as　if；　as　
was　indeed　the　case；　she　had　lost　the　power　of　visualizing　
what　she　read。　And　directly　the　list　was　pleted；　
her　mind　floated　to　Lincoln’s　Inn　Fields　and　the　fluttering　
wings　of　innumerable　sparrows。　Was　Ralph　still　enticing　
the　baldheaded　cocksparrow　to　sit　upon　his　hand？　
Had　he　succeeded？　Would　he　ever　succeed？　She　had　meant　
to　ask　him　why　it　is　that　the　sparrows　in　Lincoln’s　Inn　
Fields　are　tamer　than　the　sparrows　in　Hyde　Park—perhaps　
it　is　that　the　passersby　are　rarer；　and　they　e　to　
recognize　their　benefactors。　For　the　first　halfhour　of　the　
mittee　meeting；　Mary　had　thus　to　do　battle　with　the　
skeptical　presence　of　Ralph　Denham；　who　threatened　to　

have　it　all　his　own　way。　Mary　tried　half　a　dozen　methods　
of　ousting　him。　She　raised　her　voice；　she　articulated　distinctly；　
she　looked　firmly　at　Mr。　Clacton’s　bald　head；　she　
began　to　write　a　note。　To　her　annoyance；　her　pencil　drew　
a　little　round　figure　on　the　blottingpaper；　which；　she　
could　not　deny；　was　really　a　baldheaded　cocksparrow。　
She　looked　again　at　Mr。　Clacton；　yes；　he　was　bald；　and　so　
are　cocksparrows。　Never　was　a　secretary　tormented　by　
so　many　unsuitable　suggestions；　and　they　all　came；　alas！　
with　something　ludicrously　grotesque　about　them；　which　
might；　at　any　moment；　provoke　her　to　such　flippancy　as　
would　shock　her　colleagues　for　ever。　The　thought　of　what　
she　might　say　made　her　bite　her　lips；　as　if　her　lips　would　
protect　her。　

But　all　these　suggestions　were　but　flotsam　and　jetsam　
cast　to　the　surface　by　a　more　profound　disturbance；　which；　
as　she　could　not　consider　it　at　present；　manifested　its　
existence　by　these　grotesque　nods　and　beckonings。　Consider　
it；　she　must；　when　the　mittee　was　over。　Meanwhile；　
she　was　behaving　scandalously；　she　was　looking　
out　of　the　window；　and　thinking　of　the　color　of　the　sky；　

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Night　and　Day　

and　of　the　decorations　on　the　Imperial　Hotel；　when　she　
ought　to　have　been　shepherding　her　colleagues；　and　pinning　
them　down　to　the　matter　in　hand。　She　could　not　
bring　herself　to　attach　more　weight　to　one　project　than　
to　another。　Ralph　had　said—she　could　not　stop　to　consider　
what　he　had　said；　but　he　had　somehow　divested　the　
proceedings　of　all　reality。　And　then；　without　conscious　
effort；　by　some　trick　of　the　brain；　she　found　herself　being　
interested　in　some　scheme　for　organizing　a　newspaper　
campaign。　Certain　articles　were　to　be　written；　certain　
editors　approached。　What　line　was　it　advisable　to　
take？　She　found　herself　strongly　disapproving　of　what　
Mr。　Clacton　was　saying。　She　mitted　herself　to　the　
opinion　that　now　was　the　time　to　strike　hard。　Directly　
she　had　said　this；　she　felt　that　she　had　turned　upon　Ralph’s　
ghost；　and　she　became　more　and　more　in　earnest；　and　
anxious　to　bring　the　others　round　to　her　point　of　view。　
Once　more；　she　knew　exactly　and　indisputably　what　is　
right　and　what　is　wrong。　As　if　emerging　from　a　mist；　the　
old　foes　of　the　public　good　loomed　ahead　of　her—capitalists；　
newspaper　proprietors；　antisuffragists；　and；　in　

some　ways　most　pernicious　of　all；　the　masses　who　take　
no　interest　one　way　or　another—among　whom；　for　the　
time　being；　she　certainly　discerned　the　features　of　Ralph　
Denham。　Indeed；　when　Miss　Markham　asked　her　to　suggest　
the　names　of　a　few　friends　of　hers；　she　expressed　
herself　with　unusual　bitterness：　

“My　friends　think　all　this　kind　of　thing　useless。”　She　
felt　that　she　was　really　saying　that　to　Ralph　himself。　

“Oh；　they’re　that　sort；　are　they？”　said　Miss　Markham；　
with　a　little　laugh；　and　with　renewed　vigor　their　legions　
charged　the　foe。　

Mary’s　spirits　had　been　low　when　she　entered　the　mittee
room；　but　now　they　were　considerably　improved。　
She　knew　the　ways　of　this　world；　it　was　a　shapely；　orderly　
place；　she　felt　convinced　of　its　right　and　its　wrong；　and　
the