I share with you？ Why am I so mean？ I know why it is；” she
added。 “We understand each other； William and I。 You’ve
never understood each other。 You’re too different。”
“I’ve never admired anybody more；” William interposed。
“It’s not that”—Cassandra tried to enlighten him—”it’s
understanding。”
“Have I never understood you； Katharine？ Have I been
very selfish？”
“Yes；” Cassandra interposed。 “You’ve asked her for sympathy；
and she’s not sympathetic； you’ve wanted her to
be practical； and she’s not practical。 You’ve been selfish；
you’ve been exacting—and so has Katharine—but it
wasn’t anybody’s fault。”
Katharine had listened to this attempt at analysis with
keen attention。 Cassandra’s words seemed to rub the old
blurred image of life and freshen it so marvelously that it
looked new again。 She turned to William。
“It’s quite true；” she said。 “It was nobody’s fault。”
“There are many things that he’ll always e to you
for；” Cassandra continued； still reading from her invisible
book。 “I accept that； Katharine。 I shall never dispute it。
I want to be generous as you’ve been generous。 But being
in love makes it more difficult for me。”
They were silent。 At length William broke the silence。
“One thing I beg of you both； he said； and the old
nervousness of manner returned as he glanced at
Katharine。 “We will never discuss these matters again。
It’s not that I’m timid and conventional； as you think；
Katharine。 It’s that it spoils things to discuss them； it
unsettles people’s minds； and now we’re all so happy—”
Cassandra ratified this conclusion so far as she was concerned；
and William； after receiving the exquisite pleasure
of her glance； with its absolute affection and trust；
looked anxiously at Katharine。
“Yes； I’m happy；” she assured him。 “And I agree。 We will
never talk about it again。”
“Oh； Katharine； Katharine！” Cassandra cried； holding out
her arms while the tears ran down her cheeks。
361
Night and Day
CHAPTER XXX
The day was so different from other days to three people
in the house that the mon routine of household life—
the maid waiting at table； Mrs。 Hilbery writing a letter；
the clock striking； and the door opening； and all the other
signs of longestablished civilization appeared suddenly
to have no meaning save as they lulled Mr。 and Mrs。 Hilbery
into the belief that nothing unusual had taken place。 It
chanced that Mrs。 Hilbery was depressed without visible
cause； unless a certain crudeness verging upon coarseness
in the temper of her favorite Elizabethans could be
held responsible for the mood。 At any rate； she had shut
up “The Duchess of Malfi” with a sigh； and wished to
know； so she told Rodney at dinner； whether there wasn’t
some young writer with a touch of the great spirit—somebody
who made you believe that life was beautiful？ She
got little help from Rodney； and after singing her plaintive
requiem for the death of poetry by herself； she
charmed herself into good spirits again by remembering
the existence of Mozart。 She begged Cassandra to play to
her； and when they went upstairs Cassandra opened the
piano directly； and did her best to create an atmosphere
of unmixed beauty。 At the sound of the first notes
Katharine and Rodney both felt an enormous sense of
relief at the license which the music gave them to loosen
their hold upon the mechanism of behavior。 They lapsed
into the depths of thought。 Mrs。 Hilbery was soon spirited
away into a perfectly congenial mood； that was half
reverie and half slumber； half delicious melancholy and
half pure bliss。 Mr。 Hilbery alone attended。 He was extremely
musical； and made Cassandra aware that he listened
to every note。 She played her best； and won his
approval。 Leaning slightly forward in his chair； and turning
his little green stone； he weighed the intention of
her phrases approvingly； but stopped her suddenly to
plain of a noise behind him。 The window was
unhasped。 He signed to Rodney； who crossed the room
immediately to put the matter right。 He stayed a moment
longer by the window than was； perhaps； necessary； and
having done what was needed； drew his chair a little
closer than before to Katharine’s side。 The music went
362
Virginia Woolf
on。 Under cover of some exquisite run of melody； he leant
towards her and whispered something。 She glanced at
her father and mother； and a moment later left the room；
almost unobserved； with Rodney。
“What is it？” she asked； as soon as the door was shut。
Rodney made no answer； but led her downstairs into
the diningroom on the ground floor。 Even when he had
shut the door he said nothing； but went straight to the
window and parted the curtains。 He beckoned to Katharine。
“There he is again；” he said。 “Look； there—under the
lamppost。”
Katharine looked。 She had no idea what Rodney was
talking about。 A vague feeling of alarm and mystery possessed
her。 She saw a man standing on the opposite side
of the road facing the house beneath a lamppost。 As
they looked the figure turned； walked a few steps； and
came back again to his old position。 It seemed to her
that he was looking fixedly at her； and was conscious of
her gaze on him。 She knew； in a flash； who the man was
who was watching them。 She drew the curtain abruptly。
“Denham；” said Rodney。 “He was there last night too。”
He spoke sternly。 His whole manner had bee full of
authority。 Katharine felt almost as if he accused her of
some crime。 She was pale and unfortably agitated； as
much by the strangeness of Rodney’s behavior as by the
sight of Ralph Denham。
“If he chooses to e—” she said defiantly。
“You can’t let him wait out there。 I shall tell him to e
in。” Rodney spoke with such decision that when he raised
his arm Katharine expected him to draw the curtain instantly。
She caught his hand with a little exclamation。
“Wait！” she cried。 “I don’t allow you。”
“You can’t wait；” he replied。 “You’ve gone too far。” His
hand remained upon the curtain。 “Why don’t you admit；
Katharine；” he broke out； looking at her with an expression
of contempt as well as of anger； “that you love him？
Are you going to treat him as you treated me？”
She looked at him； wondering； in spite of all her perplexity；
at the spirit that possessed him。
“I forbid you to draw the curtain；” she said。
He reflected； and then took his hand away。
“I’ve no right to interfere；” he concluded。 “I’ll leave
363
Night and Day
you。 Or； if you like； we’ll go back to the drawingroom。”
“No。 I can’t go back；” she said； shaking her head。 She
bent her head in thought。
“You love him； Katharine；” Rodney said suddenly。 His
tone had lost something of its sternness； and might have
been used to urge a child to confess its fault。 She raised
her eyes and fixed them upon him。
“I love him？” she repeated。 He nodded。 She searched
his face； as if for further confirmation of his words； and；
as he remained silent and expectant； turned away once
more and continued her thoughts。 He observed her closely；
but without stirring； as if he gave her time to make up
her mind to fulfil her obvious duty。 The strains of Mozart
reached them from the room above。
“Now；” she said suddenly； with a sort of desperation；
rising from her chair and seeming to mand Rodney to
fulfil his part。 He drew the curtain instantly； and she
made no attempt to stop him。 Their eyes at once sought
the same spot beneath the lamppost。
“He’s not there！” she exclaimed。
No one was there。 William threw the window up and looked
out。 The wind rushed into the room； together with the
sound of distant wheels； footsteps hurrying along the pavement；
and the cries of sirens hooting down the river。
“Denham！” William cried。
“Ralph！” said Katharine； but she spoke scarcely louder
than she might have spoken to some one in the same
room。 With their eyes fixed upon the opposite side of the
road； they did not notice a figure close to the railing
which divided the garden from the street。 But Denham
had crossed the road and was standing there。 They were
startled by his voice close at hand。
“Rodney！”
“There you are！ e in； Denham。” Rodney went to the
front door and opened it。 “Here he is；” he said； bringing
Ralph with him into the diningroom where Katharine
stood； with her back to the open window。 Their eyes met
for a second。 Denham looked half dazed by the strong
light； and； buttoned in his overcoat； with his hair ruffled
across his forehead by the wind； he seemed like somebody
rescued from an open boat out at sea。 William
promptly shut the window and drew the curtains。 He acted
364
Virginia Woolf
with a cheerful decision as if he were master of the situation；
and knew exactly what he meant to do。
“You’re the first to hear the news； Denham；” he said。
“Katharine isn’t going to marry me； after all。”
“Where shall I put—” Ralph began vaguely； holding
out hi