[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第41部分

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and　all　the　others　that　puzzled　her。　Meanwhile；　she　
thought；　drawing　her　feet　up　on　to　the　fender；　life　was　
full　of　plexity；　life　was　a　thing　one　must　love　to　the　
last　fiber　of　it。　

She　had　sat　there　for　five　minutes　or　so；　and　her　thoughts　
had　had　time　to　grow　dim；　when　there　came　a　ring　at　her　
bell。　Her　eye　brightened；　she　felt　immediately　convinced　
that　Ralph　had　e　to　visit　her。　Accordingly；　she　waited　
a　moment　before　opening　the　door；　she　wanted　to　feel　
her　hands　secure　upon　the　reins　of　all　the　troublesome　

emotions　which　the　sight　of　Ralph　would　certainly　arouse。　
She　posed　herself　unnecessarily；　however；　for　she　had　
to　admit；　not　Ralph；　but　Katharine　and　William　Rodney。　
Her　first　impression　was　that　they　were　both　extremely　
well　dressed。　She　felt　herself　shabby　and　slovenly　beside　
them；　and　did　not　know　how　she　should　entertain　them；　
nor　could　she　guess　why　they　had　e。　She　had　heard　
nothing　of　their　engagement。　But　after　the　first　disappointment；　
she　was　pleased；　for　she　felt　instantly　that　
Katharine　was　a　personality；　and；　moreover；　she　need　not　
now　exercise　her　selfcontrol。　

“We　were　passing　and　saw　a　light　in　your　window；　so　we　
came　up；”　Katharine　explained；　standing　and　looking　very　
tall　and　distinguished　and　rather　absentminded。　

“We　have　been　to　see　some　pictures；”　said　William。　“Oh；　
dear；”　he　exclaimed；　looking　about　him；　“this　room　reminds　
me　of　one　of　the　worst　hours　in　my　existence—　
when　I　read　a　paper；　and　you　all　sat　round　and　jeered　at　
me。　Katharine　was　the　worst。　I　could　feel　her　gloating　over　
every　mistake　I　made。　Miss　Datchet　was　kind。　Miss　Datchet　
just　made　it　possible　for　me　to　get　through；　I　remember。”　

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Virginia　Woolf　

Sitting　down；　he　drew　off　his　light　yellow　gloves；　and　
began　slapping　his　knees　with　them。　His　vitality　was　pleasant；　
Mary　thought；　although　he　made　her　laugh。　The　very　
look　of　him　was　inclined　to　make　her　laugh。　His　rather　
prominent　eyes　passed　from　one　young　woman　to　the　
other；　and　his　lips　perpetually　formed　words　which　remained　
unspoken。　

“We　have　been　seeing　old　masters　at　the　Grafton　Gallery；”　
said　Katharine；　apparently　paying　no　attention　to　
William；　and　accepting　a　cigarette　which　Mary　offered　
her。　She　leant　back　in　her　chair；　and　the　smoke　which　
hung　about　her　face　seemed　to　withdraw　her　still　further　
from　the　others。　

“Would　you　believe　it；　Miss　Datchet；”　William　continued；　
“Katharine　doesn’t　like　Titian。　She　doesn’t　like　apricots；　
she　doesn’t　like　peaches；　she　doesn’t　like　green　peas。　
She　likes　the　Elgin　marbles；　and　gray　days　without　any　
sun。　She’s　a　typical　example　of　the　cold　northern　nature。　
I　e　from　Devonshire—”　

Had　they　been　quarreling；　Mary　wondered；　and　had　they；　
for　that　reason；　sought　refuge　in　her　room；　or　were　they　

engaged；　or　had　Katharine　just　refused　him？　She　was　
pletely　baffled。　

Katharine　now　reappeared　from　her　veil　of　smoke；　
knocked　the　ash　from　her　cigarette　into　the　fireplace；　
and　looked；　with　an　odd　expression　of　solicitude；　at　the　
irritable　man。　

“Perhaps；　Mary；”　she　said　tentatively；　“you　wouldn’t　mind　
giving　us　some　tea？　We　did　try　to　get　some；　but　the　shop　
was　so　crowded；　and　in　the　next　one　there　was　a　band　
playing；　and　most　of　the　pictures；　at　any　rate；　were　very　
dull；　whatever　you　may　say；　William。”　She　spoke　with　a　
kind　of　guarded　gentleness。　

Mary；　accordingly；　retired　to　make　preparations　in　the　
pantry。　

“What　in　the　world　are　they　after？”　she　asked　of　her　
own　reflection　in　the　little　lookingglass　which　hung　there。　
She　was　not　left　to　doubt　much　longer；　for；　on　ing　
back　into　the　sittingroom　with　the　teathings；　Katharine　
informed　her；　apparently　having　been　instructed　so　to　do　
by　William；　of　their　engagement。　

“William；”　she　said；　“thinks　that　perhaps　you　don’t　know。　

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Night　and　Day　

We　are　going　to　be　married。”　

Mary　found　herself　shaking　William’s　hand；　and　addressing　
her　congratulations　to　him；　as　if　Katharine　were　inaccessible；　
she　had；　indeed；　taken　hold　of　the　teakettle。　

“Let　me　see；”　Katharine　said；　“one　puts　hot　water　into　
the　cups　first；　doesn’t　one？　You　have　some　dodge　of　your　
own；　haven’t　you；　William；　about　making　tea？”　

Mary　was　half　inclined　to　suspect　that　this　was　said　in　
order　to　conceal　nervousness；　but　if　so；　the　concealment　
was　unusually　perfect。　Talk　of　marriage　was　dismissed。　
Katharine　might　have　been　seated　in　her　own　drawing
room；　controlling　a　situation　which　presented　no　sort　of　
difficulty　to　her　trained　mind。　Rather　to　her　surprise；　Mary　
found　herself　making　conversation　with　William　about　
old　Italian　pictures；　while　Katharine　poured　out　tea；　cut　
cake；　kept　William’s　plate　supplied；　without　joining　more　
than　was　necessary　in　the　conversation。　She　seemed　to　
have　taken　possession　of　Mary’s　room；　and　to　handle　the　
cups　as　if　they　belonged　to　her。　But　it　was　done　so　naturally　
that　it　bred　no　resentment　in　Mary；　on　the　contrary；　
she　found　herself　putting　her　hand　on　Katharine’s　knee；　

affectionately；　for　an　instant。　Was　there　something　maternal　
in　this　assumption　of　control？　And　thinking　of　
Katharine　as　one　who　would　soon　be　married；　these　maternal　
airs　filled　Mary’s　mind　with　a　new　tenderness；　and　
even　with　awe。　Katharine　seemed　very　much　older　and　
more　experienced　than　she　was。　

Meanwhile　Rodney　talked。　If　his　appearance　was　superficially　
against　him；　it　had　the　advantage　of　making　his　
solid　merits　something　of　a　surprise。　He　had　kept　notebooks；　
he　knew　a　great　deal　about　pictures。　He　could　pare　
different　examples　in　different　galleries；　and　his　authoritative　
answers　to　intelligent　questions　gained　not　a　
little；　Mary　felt；　from　the　smart　taps　which　he　dealt；　as　he　
delivered　them；　upon　the　lumps　of　coal。　She　was　impressed。　

“Your　tea；　William；”　said　Katharine　gently。　

He　paused；　gulped　it　down；　obediently；　and　continued。　

And　then　it　struck　Mary　that　Katharine；　in　the　shade　of　
her　broadbrimmed　hat；　and　in　the　midst　of　the　smoke；　
and　in　the　obscurity　of　her　character；　was；　perhaps；　smiling　
to　herself；　not　altogether　in　the　maternal　spirit。　What　
she　said　was　very　simple；　but　her　words；　even　“Your　tea；　

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William；”　were　set　down　as　gently　and　cautiously　and　
exactly　as　the　feet　of　a　Persian　cat　stepping　among　China　
ornaments。　For　the　second　time　that　day　Mary　felt　herself　
baffled　by　something　inscrutable　in　the　character　of　a　
person　to　whom　she　felt　herself　much　attracted。　She　
thought　that　if　she　were　engaged　to　Katharine；　she；　too；　
would　find　herself　very　soon　using　those　fretful　questions　
with　which　William　evidently　teased　his　bride。　And　
yet　Katharine’s　voice　was　humble。　

“I　wonder　how　you　find　the　time　to　know　all　about　
pictures　as　well　as　books？”　she　asked。　

“How　do　I　find　the　time？”　William　answered；　delighted；　
Mary　guessed；　at　this　little　pliment。　“Why；　I　always　
travel　with　a　notebook。　And　I　ask　my　way　to　the　picture　
gallery　the　very　first　thing　in　the　morning。　And　then　I　
meet　men；　and　talk　to　them。　There’s　a　man　in　my　office　
who　knows　all　about　the　Flemish　school。　I　was　telling　
Miss　Datchet　about　the　Flemish　school。　I　picked　up　a　lot　
of　it　from　him—it’s　a　way　men　have—Gibbons；　his　name　
is。　You　must　meet　him。　We’ll　ask　him　to　lunch。　And　this　
not　caring　about　art；”　he　explained；　turning　to　Mary；　“it’s　

one　of　Katharine’s　poses；　Miss　Datchet。　Did　you　know　she　
posed？　She　pretends　that　she’s　never　read　Shakespeare。　
And　why　should　she　read　Shakespeare；　since　she　IS　
Shakespeare—Rosalind；　you　know；”　and　he　gave　his　queer　
little　chuckle。　Somehow　this　pliment　appeared　very　
oldfashioned　and　almost　in　bad　taste。　Mary　actually　felt　
herself　blush；　as　if　he　had　said　“the　sex”　or　“the　ladies。”　
Constrained；　perhaps；　by　nervousness；　Rodney　continued　
in　the　same　vein。　

“She　knows　enough—enough　for　all　decent　purposes。　
What　do　you　women　want　with　learning；　when　you　have　
so　much　else—everything；　I　should　say—everything。　
Leave　us　something；　eh；　Katharine？”　

“Leave　you　something？”　said　Kathar