She seemed so definitely opposed to the vision he held
in his mind that he returned to it with a gesture of impatience。
“Katharine； Katharine；” he repeated； and seemed to himself
to be with her。 He lost his sense of all that surrounded
him； all substantial things—the hour of the day；
what we have done and are about to do； the presence of
other people and the support we derive from seeing their
belief in a mon reality—all this slipped from him。 So
he might have felt if the earth had dropped from his feet；
and the empty blue had hung all round him； and the air
had been steeped in the presence of one woman。 The
chirp of a robin on the bough above his head awakened
him； and his awakenment was acpanied by a sigh。
Here was the world in which he had lived； here the plowed
field； the high road yonder； and Mary； stripping ivy from
the trees。 When he came up with her he linked his arm
through hers and said：
“Now； Mary； what’s all this about America？”
There was a brotherly kindness in his voice which seemed
to her magnanimous； when she reflected that she had
cut short his explanations and shown little interest in his
change of plan。 She gave him her reasons for thinking
that she might profit by such a journey； omitting the one
reason which had set all the rest in motion。 He listened
attentively； and made no attempt to dissuade her。 In truth；
he found himself curiously eager to make certain of her
good sense； and accepted each fresh proof of it with satisfaction；
as though it helped him to make up his mind
about something。 She forgot the pain he had caused her；
and in place of it she became conscious of a steady tide
of wellbeing which harmonized very aptly with the tramp
of their feet upon the dry road and the support of his
arm。 The fort was the more glowing in that it seemed
to be the reward of her determination to behave to him
simply and without attempting to be other than she was。
Instead of making out an interest in the poets； she avoided
them instinctively； and dwelt rather insistently upon the
practical nature of her gifts。
In a practical way she asked for particulars of his cot
192
Virginia Woolf
tage； which hardly existed in his mind； and corrected his
vagueness。
“You must see that there’s water；” she insisted； with an
exaggeration of interest。 She avoided asking him what
he meant to do in this cottage； and； at last； when all the
practical details had been thrashed out as much as possible；
he rewarded her by a more intimate statement。
“One of the rooms；” he said； “must be my study； for；
you see； Mary； I’m going to write a book。” Here he withdrew
his arm from hers； lit his pipe； and they tramped on
in a sagacious kind of radeship； the most plete
they had attained in all their friendship。
“And what’s your book to be about？” she said； as boldly
as if she had never e to grief with Ralph in talking
about books。 He told her unhesitatingly that he meant to
write the history of the English village from Saxon days
to the present time。 Some such plan had lain as a seed in
his mind for many years； and now that he had decided； in
a flash； to give up his profession； the seed grew in the
space of twenty minutes both tall and lusty。 He was surprised
himself at the positive way in which he spoke。 It
was the same with the question of his cottage。 That had
e into existence； too； in an unromantic shape —a
square white house standing just off the high road； no
doubt； with a neighbor who kept a pig and a dozen squalling
children； for these plans were shorn of all romance in
his mind； and the pleasure he derived from thinking of
them was checked directly it passed a very sober limit。
So a sensible man who has lost his chance of some beautiful
inheritance might tread out the narrow bounds of
his actual dwellingplace； and assure himself that life is
supportable within its demesne； only one must grow turnips
and cabbages； not melons and pomegranates。 Certainly
Ralph took some pride in the resources of his mind；
and was insensibly helped to right himself by Mary’s trust
in him。 She wound her ivy spray round her ashplant； and
for the first time for many days； when alone with Ralph；
set no spies upon her motives； sayings； and feelings； but
surrendered herself to plete happiness。
Thus talking； with easy silences and some pauses to
look at the view over the hedge and to decide upon the
species of a little graybrown bird slipping among the
193
Night and Day
twigs； they walked into Lincoln； and after strolling up
and down the main street； decided upon an inn where
the rounded window suggested substantial fare； nor were
they mistaken。 For over a hundred and fifty years hot
joints； potatoes； greens； and apple puddings had been
served to generations of country gentlemen； and now；
sitting at a table in the hollow of the bow window； Ralph
and Mary took their share of this perennial feast。 Looking
across the joint； halfway through the meal； Mary
wondered whether Ralph would ever e to look quite
like the other people in the room。 Would he be absorbed
among the round pink faces； pricked with little white
bristles； the calves fitted in shiny brown leather； the blackand
white check suits； which were sprinkled about in the
same room with them？ She half hoped so； she thought
that it was only in his mind that he was different。 She
did not wish him to be too different from other people。
The walk had given him a ruddy color； too； and his eyes
were lit up by a steady； honest light； which could not
make the simplest farmer feel ill at ease； or suggest to
the most devout of clergymen a disposition to sneer at
his faith。 She loved the steep cliff of his forehead； and
pared it to the brow of a young Greek horseman； who
reins his horse back so sharply that it half falls on its
haunches。 He always seemed to her like a rider on a spirited
horse。 And there was an exaltation to her in being
with him； because there was a risk that he would not be
able to keep to the right pace among other people。 Sitting
opposite him at the little table in the window； she
came back to that state of careless exaltation which had
overe her when they halted by the gate； but now it
was acpanied by a sense of sanity and security； for
she felt that they had a feeling in mon which scarcely
needed embodiment in words。 How silent he was！ leaning
his forehead on his hand； now and then； and again
looking steadily and gravely at the backs of the two men
at the next table； with so little selfconsciousness that
she could almost watch his mind placing one thought
solidly upon the top of another； she thought that she
could feel him thinking； through the shade of her fingers；
and she could anticipate the exact moment when
he would put an end to his thought and turn a little in
194
Virginia Woolf
his chair and say：
“Well； Mary—？” inviting her to take up the thread of
thought where he had dropped it。
And at that very moment he turned just so； and said：
“Well； Mary？” with the curious touch of diffidence which
she loved in him。
She laughed； and she explained her laugh on the spur
of the moment by the look of the people in the street
below。 There was a motorcar with an old lady swathed in
blue veils； and a lady’s maid on the seat opposite； holding
a King Charles’s spaniel； there was a countrywoman
wheeling a perambulator full of sticks down the middle
of the road； there was a bailiff in gaiters discussing the
state of the cattle market with a dissenting minister—so
she defined them。
She ran over this list without any fear that her panion
would think her trivial。 Indeed； whether it was
due to the warmth of the room or to the good roast beef；
or whether Ralph had achieved the process which is called
making up one’s mind； certainly he had given up testing
the good sense； the independent character； the intelli
gence shown in her remarks。 He had been building one of
those piles of thought； as ramshackle and fantastic as a
Chinese pagoda； half from words let fall by gentlemen in
gaiters； half from the litter in his own mind； about duck
shooting and legal history； about the Roman occupation
of Lincoln and the relations of country gentlemen with
their wives； when； from all this disconnected rambling；
there suddenly formed itself in his mind the idea that he
would ask Mary to marry him。 The idea was so spontaneous
that it seemed to shape itself of its own accord before
his eyes。 It was then that he turned round and made
use of his old； instinctive phrase：
“Well； Mary—？”
As it presented itself to him at first； the idea was so
new and interesting that he was half inclined to address
it； without more ado； to Mary herself。 His natural instinct
to divide his thoughts carefully into two different classes
before he expressed them to her prevailed。 But as he
watched her looking out of the window and describing
the old lady； the woman with the perambulator； the bailiff
and the dissenting minister； his eyes filled inv