[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第88部分

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as　you　say；　it’s　out　of　the　question—this　friendship；　
he　falls　in　love　with　me。　I　don’t　want　that。　Still；”　
she　added；　“I　believe　you　exaggerate；　love’s　not　everything；　
marriage　itself　is　only　one　of　the　things—”　They　
had　reached　the　main　thoroughfare；　and　stood　looking　at　
the　omnibuses　and　passersby；　who　seemed；　for　the　moment；　
to　illustrate　what　Katharine　had　said　of　the　diversity　
of　human　interests。　For　both　of　them　it　had　bee　
one　of　those　moments　of　extreme　detachment；　when　it　
seems　unnecessary　ever　again　to　shoulder　the　burden　of　
happiness　and　selfassertive　existence。　Their　neighbors　
were　wele　to　their　possessions。　

“I　don’t　lay　down　any　rules；”’　said　Mary；　recovering　herself　
first；　as　they　turned　after　a　long　pause　of　this　description。　
“All　I　say　is　that　you　should　know　what　you’re　

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about—for　certain；　but；”　she　added；　“I　expect　you　do。”　

At　the　same　time　she　was　profoundly　perplexed；　not　
only　by　what　she　knew　of　the　arrangements　for　Katharine’s　
marriage；　but　by　the　impression　which　she　had　of　her；　
there　on　her　arm；　dark　and　inscrutable。　

They　walked　back　again　and　reached　the　steps　which　
led　up　to　Mary’s　flat。　Here　they　stopped　and　paused　for　a　
moment；　saying　nothing。　

“You　must　go　in；”　said　Katharine；　rousing　herself。　“He’s　
waiting　all　this　time　to　go　on　with　his　reading。”　She　
glanced　up　at　the　lighted　window　near　the　top　of　the　
house；　and　they　both　looked　at　it　and　waited　for　a　moment。　
A　flight　of　semicircular　steps　ran　up　to　the　hall；　
and　Mary　slowly　mounted　the　first　two　or　three；　and　
paused；　looking　down　upon　Katharine。　

“I　think　you　underrate　the　value　of　that　emotion；”　she　
said　slowly；　and　a　little　awkwardly。　She　climbed　another　
step　and　looked　down　once　more　upon　the　figure　that　
was　only　partly　lit　up；　standing　in　the　street　with　a　colorless　
face　turned　upwards。　As　Mary　hesitated；　a　cab　came　
by　and　Katharine　turned　and　stopped　it；　saying　as　she　

opened　the　door：　

“Remember；　I　want　to　belong　to　your　society—remember；”　
she　added；　having　to　raise　her　voice　a　little；　and　
shutting　the　door　upon　the　rest　of　her　words。　

Mary　mounted　the　stairs　step　by　step；　as　if　she　had　to　
lift　her　body　up　an　extremely　steep　ascent。　She　had　had　
to　wrench　herself　forcibly　away　from　Katharine；　and　every　
step　vanquished　her　desire。　She　held　on　grimly；　encouraging　
herself　as　though　she　were　actually　making　
some　great　physical　effort　in　climbing　a　height。　She　was　
conscious　that　Mr。　Bast；　sitting　at　the　top　of　the　stairs　
with　his　documents；　offered　her　solid　footing　if　she　were　
capable　of　reaching　it。　The　knowledge　gave　her　a　faint　
sense　of　exaltation。　

Mr。　Bast　raised　his　eyes　as　she　opened　the　door。　

“I’ll　go　on　where　I　left　off；”　he　said。　“Stop　me　if　you　
want　anything　explained。”　

He　had　been　rereading　the　document；　and　making　pencil　
notes　in　the　margin　while　he　waited；　and　he　went　on　
again　as　if　there　had　been　no　interruption。　Mary　sat　down　
among　the　flat　cushions；　lit　another　cigarette；　and　lis


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tened　with　a　frown　upon　her　face。　

Katharine　leant　back　in　the　corner　of　the　cab　that　carried　
her　to　Chelsea；　conscious　of　fatigue；　and　conscious；　
too；　of　the　sober　and　satisfactory　nature　of　such　industry　
as　she　had　just　witnessed。　The　thought　of　it　posed　
and　calmed　her。　When　she　reached　home　she　let　herself　
in　as　quietly　as　she　could；　in　the　hope　that　the　household　
was　already　gone　to　bed。　But　her　excursion　had　occupied　
less　time　than　she　thought；　and　she　heard　sounds　
of　unmistakable　liveliness　upstairs。　A　door　opened；　and　
she　drew　herself　into　a　groundfloor　room　in　case　the　
sound　meant　that　Mr。　Peyton　were　taking　his　leave。　From　
where　she　stood　she　could　see　the　stairs；　though　she　was　
herself　invisible。　Some　one　was　ing　down　the　stairs；　
and　now　she　saw　that　it　was　William　Rodney。　He　looked　a　
little　strange；　as　if　he　were　walking　in　his　sleep；　his　lips　
moved　as　if　he　were　acting　some　part　to　himself。　He　came　
down　very　slowly；　step　by　step；　with　one　hand　upon　the　
banisters　to　guide　himself。　She　thought　he　looked　as　if　
he　were　in　some　mood　of　high　exaltation；　which　it　made　
her　unfortable　to　witness　any　longer　unseen。　She　

stepped　into　the　hall。　He　gave　a　great　start　upon　seeing　

her　and　stopped。　

“Katharine！”　he　exclaimed。　“You’ve　been　out？”　he　asked。　

“Yes…　。　Are　they　still　up？”　

He　did　not　answer；　and　walked　into　the　groundfloor　
room　through　the　door　which　stood　open。　

“It’s　been　more　wonderful　than　I　can　tell　you；”　he　said；　
“I’m　incredibly　happy—”　

He　was　scarcely　addressing　her；　and　she　said　nothing。　
For　a　moment　they　stood　at　opposite　sides　of　a　table　
saying　nothing。　Then　he　asked　her　quickly；　“But　tell　me；　
how　did　it　seem　to　you？　What　did　you　think；　Katharine？　
Is　there　a　chance　that　she　likes　me？　Tell　me；　Katharine！”　

Before　she　could　answer　a　door　opened　on　the　landing　
above　and　disturbed　them。　It　disturbed　William　excessively。　
He　started　back；　walked　rapidly　into　the　hall；　and　
said　in　a　loud　and　ostentatiously　ordinary　tone：　

“Good　night；　Katharine。　Go　to　bed　now。　I　shall　see　you　
soon。　I　hope　I　shall　be　able　to　e　tomorrow。”　

Next　moment　he　was　gone。　She　went　upstairs　and　found　
Cassandra　on　the　landing。　She　held　two　or　three　books　in　

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her　hand；　and　she　was　stooping　to　look　at　others　in　a　
little　bookcase。　She　said　that　she　could　never　tell　which　
book　she　wanted　to　read　in　bed；　poetry；　biography；　or　
metaphysics。　

“What　do　you　read　in　bed；　Katharine？”　she　asked；　as　
they　walked　upstairs　side　by　side。　

“Sometimes　one　thing—sometimes　another；”　said　
Katharine　vaguely。　Cassandra　looked　at　her。　

“D’you　know；　you’re　extraordinarily　queer；”　she　said。　“Every　
one　seems　to　me　a　little　queer。　Perhaps　it’s　the　effect　
of　London。”　

“Is　William　queer；　too？”　Katharine　asked。　

“Well；　I　think　he　is　a　little；”　Cassandra　replied。　“Queer；　
but　very　fascinating。　I　shall　read　Milton　tonight。　It’s　
been　one　of　the　happiest　nights　of　my　life；　Katharine；”　
she　added；　looking　with　shy　devotion　at　her　cousin’s　beautiful　
face。　

CHAPTER　XXVII　


London；　in　the　first　days　of　spring；　has　buds　that　open　
and　flowers　that　suddenly　shake　their　petals—white；　
purple；　or　crimson—in　petition　with　the　display　in　
the　garden　beds；　although　these　city　flowers　are　merely　
so　many　doors　flung　wide　in　Bond　Street　and　the　neighborhood；　
inviting　you　to　look　at　a　picture；　or　hear　a　symphony；　
or　merely　crowd　and　crush　yourself　among　all　sorts　
of　vocal；　excitable；　brightly　colored　human　beings。　But；　
all　the　same；　it　is　no　mean　rival　to　the　quieter　process　of　
vegetable　florescence。　Whether　or　not　there　is　a　generous　
motive　at　the　root；　a　desire　to　share　and　impart；　or　
whether　the　animation　is　purely　that　of　insensate　fervor　
and　friction；　the　effect；　while　it　lasts；　certainly　encourages　
those　who　are　young；　and　those　who　are　ignorant；　
to　think　the　world　one　great　bazaar；　with　banners　fluttering　
and　divans　heaped　with　spoils　from　every　quarter　of　
the　globe　for　their　delight。　

As　Cassandra　Otway　went　about　London　provided　with　
shillings　that　opened　turnstiles；　or　more　often　with　large　

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white　cards　that　disregarded　turnstiles；　the　city　seemed　
to　her　the　most　lavish　and　hospitable　of　hosts。　After　visiting　
the　National　Gallery；　or　Hertford　House；　or　hearing　
Brahms　or　Beethoven　at　the　Bechstein　Hall；　she　would　
e　back　to　find　a　new　person　awaiting　her；　in　whose　
soul　were　imbedded　some　grains　of　the　invaluable　substance　
which　she　still　called　reality；　and　still　believed　
that　she　could　find。　The　Hilberys；　as　the　saying　is；　“knew　
every　one；”　and　that　arrogant　claim　was　certainly　upheld　
by　the　number　of　houses　which；　within　a　certain　area；　lit　
their　lamps　at　night；　opened　their　doors　after　3　p。　m。；　
and　admitted　the　Hilberys　to　their　diningrooms；　say；　once　
a　month。　An　indefinable　freedom　and　authority　of　manner；　
shared　by　most　of　the　people　who　lived　in　these　
houses；　seemed　to　indicate　that