and Cassandra’s eyes upon them； judging their exact degree
of intimacy； so that they might fix the weddingday。
She promptly decided that she would meet Ralph out of
doors； she still had time to reach Lincoln’s Inn Fields
before he left his office。 She hailed a cab； and bade it
take her to a shop for selling maps which she remembered
in Great Queen Street； since she hardly liked to be
set down at his door。 Arrived at the shop； she bought a
large scale map of Norfolk； and thus provided； hurried
into Lincoln’s Inn Fields； and assured herself of the position
of Messrs。 Hoper and Grateley’s office。 The great gas
chandeliers were alight in the office windows。 She conceived
that he sat at an enormous table laden with papers
beneath one of them in the front room with the
three tall windows。 Having settled his position there； she
began walking to and fro upon the pavement。 Nobody of
his build appeared。 She scrutinized each male figure as it
approached and passed her。 Each male figure had； nevertheless；
a look of him； due； perhaps； to the professional
dress； the quick step； the keen glance which they cast
upon her as they hastened home after the day’s work。
The square itself； with its immense houses all so fully
occupied and stern of aspect； its atmosphere of industry
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Night and Day
and power； as if even the sparrows and the children were
earning their daily bread； as if the sky itself； with its
gray and scarlet clouds； reflected the serious intention of
the city beneath it； spoke of him。 Here was the fit place
for their meeting； she thought； here was the fit place for
her to walk thinking of him。 She could not help paring
it with the domestic streets of Chelsea。 With this
parison in her mind； she extended her range a little；
and turned into the main road。 The great torrent of vans
and carts was sweeping down Kingsway； pedestrians were
streaming in two currents along the pavements。 She stood
fascinated at the corner。 The deep roar filled her ears；
the changing tumult had the inexpressible fascination of
varied life pouring ceaselessly with a purpose which； as
she looked； seemed to her； somehow； the normal purpose
for which life was framed； its plete indifference to
the individuals； whom it swallowed up and rolled onwards；
filled her with at least a temporary exaltation。 The blend
of daylight and of lamplight made her an invisible spectator；
just as it gave the people who passed her a semitransparent
quality； and left the faces pale ivory ovals in
which the eyes alone were dark。 They tended the enormous
rush of the current—the great flow； the deep stream；
the unquenchable tide。 She stood unobserved and absorbed；
glorying openly in the rapture that had run
subterraneously all day。 Suddenly she was clutched； unwilling；
from the outside； by the recollection of her purpose
in ing there。 She had e to find Ralph Denham。
She hastily turned back into Lincoln’s Inn Fields； and
looked for her landmark—the light in the three tall windows。
She sought in vain。 The faces of the houses had
now merged in the general darkness； and she had difficulty
in determining which she sought。 Ralph’s three windows
gave back on their ghostly glass panels only a reflection
of the gray and greenish sky。 She rang the bell；
peremptorily； under the painted name of the firm。 After
some delay she was answered by a caretaker； whose pail
and brush of themselves told her that the working day
was over and the workers gone。 Nobody； save perhaps Mr。
Grateley himself； was left； she assured Katharine； every
one else had been gone these ten minutes。
The news woke Katharine pletely。 Anxiety gained
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Virginia Woolf
upon her。 She hastened back into Kingsway； looking at
people who had miraculously regained their solidity。 She
ran as far as the Tube station； overhauling clerk after
clerk； solicitor after solicitor。 Not one of them even faintly
resembled Ralph Denham。 More and more plainly did she
see him； and more and more did he seem to her unlike
any one else。 At the door of the station she paused； and
tried to collect her thoughts。 He had gone to her house。
By taking a cab she could be there probably in advance
of him。 But she pictured herself opening the drawing
room door； and William and Cassandra looking up； and
Ralph’s entrance a moment later； and the glances—the
insinuations。 No； she could not face it。 She would write
him a letter and take it at once to his house。 She bought
paper and pencil at the bookstall； and entered an A。B。C。
shop； where； by ordering a cup of coffee； she secured an
empty table； and began at vice to write：
“I came to meet you and I have missed you。 I could not
face William and Cassandra。 They want us—” here she
paused。 “They insist that we are engaged；” she substituted；
“and we couldn’t talk at all； or explain anything。 I
want—” Her wants were so vast； now that she was in
munication with Ralph； that the pencil was utterly
inadequate to conduct them on to the paper； it seemed
as if the whole torrent of Kingsway had to run down her
pencil。 She gazed intently at a notice hanging on the
goldencrusted wall opposite。 “… to say all kinds of
things；” she added； writing each word with the painstaking
of a child。 But； when she raised her eyes again to
meditate the next sentence； she was aware of a waitress；
whose expression intimated that it was closing time； and；
looking round； Katharine saw herself almost the last person
left in the shop。 She took up her letter； paid her bill；
and found herself once more in the street。 She would
now take a cab to Highgate。 But at that moment it flashed
upon her that she could not remember the address。 This
check seemed to let fall a barrier across a very powerful
current of desire。 She ransacked her memory in desperation；
hunting for the name； first by remembering the look
of the house； and then by trying； in memory； to retrace
the words she had written once； at least； upon an envelope。
The more she pressed the farther the words receded。
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Night and Day
Was the house an Orchard Something； on the street a
Hill？ She gave it up。 Never； since she was a child； had she
felt anything like this blankness and desolation。 There
rushed in upon her； as if she were waking from some
dream； all the consequences of her inexplicable indolence。
She figured Ralph’s face as he turned from her door without
a word of explanation； receiving his dismissal as a
blow from herself； a callous intimation that she did not
wish to see him。 She followed his departure from her
door； but it was far more easy to see him marching far
and fast in any direction for any length of time than to
conceive that he would turn back to Highgate。 Perhaps
he would try once more to see her in Cheyne Walk？ It was
proof of the clearness with which she saw him； that she
started forward as this possibility occurred to her； and
almost raised her hand to beckon to a cab。 No； he was
too proud to e again； he rejected the desire and walked
on and on； on and on—If only she could read the names
of those visionary streets down which he passed！ But her
imagination betrayed her at this point； or mocked her
with a sense of their strangeness； darkness； and distance。
Indeed； instead of helping herself to any decision； she
only filled her mind with the vast extent of London and
the impossibility of finding any single figure that wandered
off this way and that way； turned to the right and
to the left； chose that dingy little back street where the
children were playing in the road； and so—She roused
herself impatiently。 She walked rapidly along Holborn。
Soon she turned and walked as rapidly in the other direction。
This indecision was not merely odious； but had something
that alarmed her about it； as she had been alarmed
slightly once or twice already that day； she felt unable to
cope with the strength of her own desires。 To a person
controlled by habit； there was humiliation as well as alarm
in this sudden release of what appeared to be a very
powerful as well as an unreasonable force。 An aching in
the muscles of her right hand now showed her that she
was crushing her gloves and the map of Norfolk in a grip
sufficient to crack a more solid object。 She relaxed her
grasp； she looked anxiously at the faces of the passersby
to see whether their eyes rested on her for a moment
longer than was natural； or with any curiosity。 But hav
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Virginia Woolf
ing smoothed out her gloves； and done what she could to
look as usual； she forgot spectators； and was once more
given up to her desperate desire to find Ralph Denham。
It was a desire now—wild； irrational； unexplained； resembling
something felt in childhood。 Once more she
blamed herself bitterly for her carelessness。 But finding
herself opposite the Tube station； she pulled herself up
and took counsel swiftly； as of old。 It flashed upon her
that she would go at once to Mary Datchet； and ask her
to give her Ralph’s address。 The decision was a relief； not
on