[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版- 第20部分

Instead　of　answering　her；　he　wondered　whether　he　
should　tell　her　something　that　was　quite　true　about　himself；　
and　as　he　wondered；　he　told　her。　

“I’ve　planned　out　my　life　in　sections　ever　since　I　was　a　
child；　to　make　it　last　longer。　You　see；　I’m　always　afraid　
that　I’m　missing　something—”　

“And　so　am　I！”　Katharine　exclaimed。　“But；　after　all；”　
she　added；　“why　should　you　miss　anything？”　

“Why？　Because　I’m　poor；　for　one　thing；”　Ralph　rejoined。　
“You；　I　suppose；　can　have　Venice　and　India　and　Dante　
every　day　of　your　life。”　

She　said　nothing　for　a　moment；　but　rested　one　hand；　
which　was　bare　of　glove；　upon　the　rail　in　front　of　her；　
meditating　upon　a　variety　of　things；　of　which　one　was　
that　this　strange　young　man　pronounced　Dante　as　she　
was　used　to　hearing　it　pronounced；　and　another；　that　he　
had；　most　unexpectedly；　a　feeling　about　life　that　was　
familiar　to　her。　Perhaps；　then；　he　was　the　sort　of　person　

she　might　take　an　interest　in；　if　she　came　to　know　him　
better；　and　as　she　had　placed　him　among　those　whom　
she　would　never　want　to　know　better；　this　was　enough　to　
make　her　silent。　She　hastily　recalled　her　first　view　of　
him；　in　the　little　room　where　the　relics　were　kept；　and　
ran　a　bar　through　half　her　impressions；　as　one　cancels　a　
badly　written　sentence；　having　found　the　right　one。　

“But　to　know　that　one　might　have　things　doesn’t　alter　
the　fact　that　one　hasn’t　got　them；”　she　said；　in　some　confusion。　
“How　could　I　go　to　India；　for　example？　Besides；”　
she　began　impulsively；　and　stopped　herself。　Here　the　conductor　
came　round；　and　interrupted　them。　Ralph　waited　
for　her　to　resume　her　sentence；　but　she　said　no　more。　

“I　have　a　message　to　give　your　father；”　he　remarked。　
“Perhaps　you　would　give　it　him；　or　I　could　e—”　

“Yes；　do　e；”　Katharine　replied。　

“Still；　I　don’t　see　why　you　shouldn’t　go　to　India；”　Ralph　
began；　in　order　to　keep　her　from　rising；　as　she　threatened　
to　do。　

But　she　got　up　in　spite　of　him；　and　said　goodbye　with　
her　usual　air　of　decision；　and　left　him　with　a　quickness　

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Night　and　Day　

which　Ralph　connected　now　with　all　her　movements。　He　
looked　down　and　saw　her　standing　on　the　pavement　edge；　
an　alert；　manding　figure；　which　waited　its　season　to　
cross；　and　then　walked　boldly　and　swiftly　to　the　other　
side。　That　gesture　and　action　would　be　added　to　the　picture　
he　had　of　her；　but　at　present　the　real　woman　pletely　
routed　the　phantom　one。　

CHAPTER　VII　


And　little　Augustus　Pelham　said　to　me；　‘It’s　the　younger　
generation　knocking　at　the　door；’　and　I　said　to　him；　‘Oh；　
but　the　younger　generation　es　in　without　knocking；　
Mr。　Pelham。’　Such　a　feeble　little　joke；　wasn’t　it；　but　down　
it　went　into　his　notebook　all　the　same。”　

“Let　us　congratulate　ourselves　that　we　shall　be　in　the　
grave　before　that　work　is　published；”　said　Mr。　Hilbery。　

The　elderly　couple　were　waiting　for　the　dinnerbell　to　
ring　and　for　their　daughter　to　e　into　the　room。　Their　
armchairs　were　drawn　up　on　either　side　of　the　fire；　and　
each　sat　in　the　same　slightly　crouched　position；　looking　
into　the　coals；　with　the　expressions　of　people　who　have　
had　their　share　of　experiences　and　wait；　rather　passively；　
for　something　to　happen。　Mr。　Hilbery　now　gave　all　his　
attention　to　a　piece　of　coal　which　had　fallen　out　of　the　
grate；　and　to　selecting　a　favorable　position　for　it　among　
the　lumps　that　were　burning　already。　Mrs。　Hilbery　watched　
him　in　silence；　and　the　smile　changed　on　her　lips　as　if　
her　mind　still　played　with　the　events　of　the　afternoon。　

80　



Virginia　Woolf　

When　Mr。　Hilbery　had　acplished　his　task；　he　resumed　
his　crouching　position　again；　and　began　to　toy　with　the　
little　green　stone　attached　to　his　watchchain。　His　deep；　
ovalshaped　eyes　were　fixed　upon　the　flames；　but　behind　
the　superficial　glaze　seemed　to　brood　an　observant　and　
whimsical　spirit；　which　kept　the　brown　of　the　eye　still　
unusually　vivid。　But　a　look　of　indolence；　the　result　of　
skepticism　or　of　a　taste　too　fastidious　to　be　satisfied　by　
the　prizes　and　conclusions　so　easily　within　his　grasp；　
lent　him　an　expression　almost　of　melancholy。　After　sitting　
thus　for　a　time；　he　seemed　to　reach　some　point　in　
his　thinking　which　demonstrated　its　futility；　upon　which　
he　sighed　and　stretched　his　hand　for　a　book　lying　on　the　
table　by　his　side。　

Directly　the　door　opened　he　closed　the　book；　and　the　
eyes　of　father　and　mother　both　rested　on　Katharine　as　
she　came　towards　them。　The　sight　seemed　at　once　to　
give　them　a　motive　which　they　had　not　had　before。　To　
them　she　appeared；　as　she　walked　towards　them　in　her　
light　evening　dress；　extremely　young；　and　the　sight　of　
her　refreshed　them；　were　it　only　because　her　youth　and　

ignorance　made　their　knowledge　of　the　world　of　some　
value。　

“The　only　excuse　for　you；　Katharine；　is　that　dinner　is　
still　later　than　you　are；”　said　Mr。　Hilbery；　putting　down　
his　spectacles。　

“I　don’t　mind　her　being　late　when　the　result　is　so　charming；”　
said　Mrs。　Hilbery；　looking　with　pride　at　her　daughter。　
“Still；　I　don’t　know　that　I　like　your　being　out　so　late；　
Katharine；”　she　continued。　“You　took　a　cab；　I　hope？”　

Here　dinner　was　announced；　and　Mr。　Hilbery　formally　
led　his　wife　downstairs　on　his　arm。　They　were　all　dressed　
for　dinner；　and；　indeed；　the　prettiness　of　the　dinnertable　
merited　that　pliment。　There　was　no　cloth　upon　the　
table；　and　the　china　made　regular　circles　of　deep　blue　
upon　the　shining　brown　wood。　In　the　middle　there　was　a　
bowl　of　tawny　red　and　yellow　chrysanthemums；　and　one　
of　pure　white；　so　fresh　that　the　narrow　petals　were　curved　
backwards　into　a　firm　white　ball。　From　the　surrounding　
walls　the　heads　of　three　famous　Victorian　writers　surveyed　
this　entertainment；　and　slips　of　paper　pasted　beneath　
them　testified　in　the　great　man’s　own　handwriting　

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Night　and　Day　

that　he　was　yours　sincerely　or　affectionately　or　for　ever。　
The　father　and　daughter　would　have　been　quite　content；　
apparently；　to　eat　their　dinner　in　silence；　or　with　a　few　
cryptic　remarks　expressed　in　a　shorthand　which　could　not　
be　understood　by　the　servants。　But　silence　depressed　Mrs。　
Hilbery；　and　far　from　minding　the　presence　of　maids；　she　
would　often　address　herself　to　them；　and　was　never　altogether　
unconscious　of　their　approval　or　disapproval　of　
her　remarks。　In　the　first　place　she　called　them　to　witness　
that　the　room　was　darker　than　usual；　and　had　all　the　
lights　turned　on。　

“That’s　more　cheerful；”　she　exclaimed。　“D’you　know；　
Katharine；　that　ridiculous　goose　came　to　tea　with　me？　
Oh；　how　I　wanted　you！　He　tried　to　make　epigrams　all　the　
time；　and　I　got　so　nervous；　expecting　them；　you　know；　
that　I　spilt　the　tea—and　he　made　an　epigram　about　that！”　
“Which　ridiculous　goose？”　Katharine　asked　her　father。　

“Only　one　of　my　geese；　happily；　makes　epigrams—　
Augustus　Pelham；　of　course；”　said　Mrs。　Hilbery。　

“I’m　not　sorry　that　I　was　out；”　said　Katharine。　

“Poor　Augustus！”　Mrs。　Hilbery　exclaimed。　“But　we’re　all　

too　hard　on　him。　Remember　how　devoted　he　is　to　his　
tiresome　old　mother。”　

“That’s　only　because　she　is　his　mother。　Any　one　connected　
with　himself—”　

“No；　no；　Katharine—that’s　too　bad。　That’s—what’s　the　
word　I　mean；　Trevor；　something　long　and　Latin—the　sort　
of　word　you　and　Katharine　know—”　

Mr。　Hilbery　suggested　“cynical。”　

“Well；　that’ll　do。　I　don’t　believe　in　sending　girls　to　college；　
but　I　should　teach　them　that　sort　of　thing。　It　makes　
one　feel　so　dignified；　bringing　out　these　little　allusions；　
and　passing　on　gracefully　to　the　next　topic。　But　I　don’t　
know　what’s　e　over　me—I　actually　had　to　ask　Augustus　
the　name　of　the　lady　Hamlet　was　in　love　with；　as　you　
were　out；　Katharine；　and　Heaven　knows　what　he　mayn’t　
put　down　about　me　in　his　diary。”　

“I　wish；”　Katharine　started；　with　great　impetuosity；　and　
checked　herself。　Her　mother　always　stirred　her　to　feel　
and　think　quickly；　and　then　she　remembered　that　her　father　
was　there；　listening　with　attention。　

“What　is　it　you　wish？”　he　asked；　as　she　paused。　

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Virginia　Woolf　

He　often　surprised　her；　thus；　into　telling　him　what　she　
had　not　meant　to　tell　him；　and　then　they　argued；　while　
Mrs。　Hilbery　went　on　with　her　own　thoughts。　

“I　wish　mother　wasn’t　famous。　I　was　out　at　tea；　and　
they　would　talk　to　me　about　poetry。”　

“Thinking　you　must　be　poetical；　I　see—and　aren’t　you？”　

“Who’s　been　talking　to　you　about　poetry；　Katharine？”　
Mrs。　Hilbery　demanded；　and　Katharine　was　mitted　to　
giving　her　parents　an　account　of　her　visit　to　the　Suffrage　
office。　

“They　have　an　office　at　the　top　of　one　of　the　old　houses　
in　Russell　Square。　I　never　saw　such　queerlooking　people。　
And　the　man　discovered　I　was　related　to　the　poet；　and　
talked　to　me　about　poetry。　Even　Mary　Datchet　seems　different　
in　that　atmosphere。”　

“Yes；　the　office　atmosphere　is　very　bad　for　the　soul；”　
said　Mr。　Hilbery。　

“I　don’t　remember　any　offices　in　Russell　Square　in　the　
old　days；　when　Mamma　lived　there；”　Mrs。　Hilbery　mused；　
“and　I　can’t　fancy　turning　one　of　those　noble