[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第49章

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shortly。　But　Rodney；　now　started　on　an　agreeable　current　
of　reflection；　could　not　resist　the　temptation　of　pursuing　
it　a　little　further。　He　appeared　to　himself　as　a　man　who　
moved　easily　in　very　good　society；　and　knew　enough　about　
the　true　values　of　life　to　be　himself　above　it。　

“Oh；　but　you　should；”　he　went　on。　“It’s　well　worth　staying　
there；　anyhow；　once　a　year。　They　make　one　very　fortable；　
and　the　women　are　ravishing。”　

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“The　women？”　Henry　thought　to　himself；　with　disgust。　
“What　could　any　woman　see　in　you？”　His　tolerance　was　
rapidly　being　exhausted；　but　he　could　not　help　liking　
Rodney　nevertheless；　and　this　appeared　to　him　strange；　
for　he　was　fastidious；　and　such　words　in　another　mouth　
would　have　condemned　the　speaker　irreparably。　He　began；　
in　short；　to　wonder　what　kind　of　creature　this　man　
who　was　to　marry　his　cousin　might　be。　Could　any　one；　
except　a　rather　singular　character；　afford　to　be　so　ridiculously　
vain？　

“I　don’t　think　I　should　get　on　in　that　society；”　he　replied。　
“I　don’t　think　I　should　know　what　to　say　to　Lady　
Rose　if　I　met　her。”　

“I　don’t　find　any　difficulty；”　Rodney　chuckled。　“You　talk　
to　them　about　their　children；　if　they　have　any；　or　their　
acplishments—painting；　gardening；　poetry—they’re　
so　delightfully　sympathetic。　Seriously；　you　know　I　think　a　
woman’s　opinion　of　one’s　poetry　is　always　worth　having。　
Don’t　ask　them　for　their　reasons。　Just　ask　them　for　their　
feelings。　Katharine；　for　example—”　

“Katharine；”　said　Henry；　with　an　emphasis　upon　the　

name；　almost　as　if　he　resented　Rodney’s　use　of　it；　
“Katharine　is　very　unlike　most　women。”　

“Quite；”　Rodney　agreed。　“She　is—”　He　seemed　about　
to　describe　her；　and　he　hesitated　for　a　long　time。　“She’s　
looking　very　well；”　he　stated；　or　rather　almost　inquired；　
in　a　different　tone　from　that　in　which　he　had　been　speaking。　
Henry　bent　his　head。　

“But；　as　a　family；　you’re　given　to　moods；　eh？”　

“Not　Katharine；”　said　Henry；　with　decision。　

“Not　Katharine；”　Rodney　repeated；　as　if　he　weighed　the　
meaning　of　the　words。　“No；　perhaps　you’re　right。　But　her　
engagement　has　changed　her。　Naturally；”　he　added；　“one　
would　expect　that　to　be　so。”　He　waited　for　Henry　to　confirm　
this　statement；　but　Henry　remained　silent。　

“Katharine　has　had　a　difficult　life；　in　some　ways；”　he　
continued。　“I　expect　that　marriage　will　be　good　for　her。　
She　has　great　powers。”　

“Great；”　said　Henry；　with　decision。　

“Yes—but　now　what　direction　d’you　think　they　take？”　
Rodney　had　pletely　dropped　his　pose　as　a　man　of　
the　world；　and　seemed　to　be　asking　Henry　to　help　him　in　

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a　difficulty。　

“I　don’t　know；”　Henry　hesitated　cautiously。　

“D’you　think　children—a　household—that　sort　of　
thing—d’you　think　that’ll　satisfy　her？　Mind；　I’m　out　all　
day。”　

“She　would　certainly　be　very　petent；”　Henry　stated。　

“Oh；　she’s　wonderfully　petent；”　said　Rodney。　“But—　
I　get　absorbed　in　my　poetry。　Well；　Katharine　hasn’t　got　
that。　She　admires　my　poetry；　you　know；　but　that　wouldn’t　
be　enough　for　her？”　

“No；”　said　Henry。　He　paused。　“I　think　you’re　right；”　he　
added；　as　if　he　were　summing　up　his　thoughts。　“Katharine　
hasn’t　found　herself　yet。　Life　isn’t　altogether　real　to　her　
yet—I　sometimes　think—”　

“Yes？”　Rodney　inquired；　as　if　he　were　eager　for　Henry　
to　continue。　“That　is　what　I—”　he　was　going　on；　as　Henry　
remained　silent；　but　the　sentence　was　not　finished；　for　
the　door　opened；　and　they　were　interrupted　by　Henry’s　
younger　brother　Gilbert；　much　to　Henry’s　relief；　for　he　
had　already　said　more　than　he　liked。　

CHAPTER　XVII　


When　the　sun　shone；　as　it　did　with　unusual　brightness　
that　Christmas　week；　it　revealed　much　that　was　faded　
and　not　altogether　wellkeptup　in　Stogdon　House　and　
its　grounds。　In　truth；　Sir　Francis　had　retired　from　service　
under　the　Government　of　India　with　a　pension　that　was　
not　adequate；　in　his　opinion；　to　his　services；　as　it　certainly　
was　not　adequate　to　his　ambitions。　His　career　had　
not　e　up　to　his　expectations；　and　although　he　was　a　
very　fine；　whitewhiskered；　mahoganycolored　old　man　
to　look　at；　and　had　laid　down　a　very　choice　cellar　of　good　
reading　and　good　stories；　you　could　not　long　remain　ignorant　
of　the　fact　that　some　thunderstorm　had　soured　
them；　he　had　a　grievance。　This　grievance　dated　back　to　
the　middle　years　of　the　last　century；　when；　owing　to　some　
official　intrigue；　his　merits　had　been　passed　over　in　a　
disgraceful　manner　in　favor　of　another；　his　junior。　

The　rights　and　wrongs　of　the　story；　presuming　that　they　
had　some　existence　in　fact；　were　no　longer　clearly　known　
to　his　wife　and　children；　but　this　disappointment　had　

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played　a　very　large　part　in　their　lives；　and　had　poisoned　
the　life　of　Sir　Francis　much　as　a　disappointment　in　love　is　
said　to　poison　the　whole　life　of　a　woman。　Long　brooding　
on　his　failure；　continual　arrangement　and　rearrangement　
of　his　deserts　and　rebuffs；　had　made　Sir　Francis　much　of　
an　egoist；　and　in　his　retirement　his　temper　became　increasingly　
difficult　and　exacting。　

His　wife　now　offered　so　little　resistance　to　his　moods　
that　she　was　practically　useless　to　him。　He　made　his　
daughter　Eleanor　into　his　chief　confidante；　and　the　prime　
of　her　life　was　being　rapidly　consumed　by　her　father。　To　
her　he　dictated　the　memoirs　which　were　to　avenge　his　
memory；　and　she　had　to　assure　him　constantly　that　his　
treatment　had　been　a　disgrace。　Already；　at　the　age　of　
thirtyfive；　her　cheeks　were　whitening　as　her　mother’s　
had　whitened；　but　for　her　there　would　be　no　memories　of　
Indian　suns　and　Indian　rivers；　and　clamor　of　children　in　a　
nursery；　she　would　have　very　little　of　substance　to　think　
about　when　she　sat；　as　Lady　Otway　now　sat；　knitting　
white　wool；　with　her　eyes　fixed　almost　perpetually　upon　
the　same　embroidered　bird　upon　the　same　firescreen。　

But　then　Lady　Otway　was　one　of　the　people　for　whom　the　
great　makebelieve　game　of　English　social　life　has　been　
invented；　she　spent　most　of　her　time　in　pretending　to　
herself　and　her　neighbors　that　she　was　a　dignified；　important；　
muchoccupied　person；　of　considerable　social　
standing　and　sufficient　wealth。　In　view　of　the　actual　state　
of　things　this　game　needed　a　great　deal　of　skill；　and；　
perhaps；　at　the　age　she　had　reached—she　was　over　sixty—　
she　played　far　more　to　deceive　herself　than　to　deceive　
any　one　else。　Moreover；　the　armor　was　wearing　thin；　she　
forgot　to　keep　up　appearances　more　and　more。　

The　worn　patches　in　the　carpets；　and　the　pallor　of　the　
drawingroom；　where　no　chair　or　cover　had　been　renewed　
for　some　years；　were　due　not　only　to　the　miserable　pension；　
but　to　the　wear　and　tear　of　twelve　children；　eight　of　
whom　were　sons。　As　often　happens　in　these　large　families；　
a　distinct　dividingline　could　be　traced；　about　halfway　
in　the　succession；　where　the　money　for　educational　
purposes　had　run　short；　and　the　six　younger　children　had　
grown　up　far　more　economically　than　the　elder。　If　the　
boys　were　clever；　they　won　scholarships；　and　went　to　

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school；　if　they　were　not　clever；　they　took　what　the　family　
connection　had　to　offer　them。　The　girls　accepted　situations　
occasionally；　but　there　were　always　one　or　two　at　
home；　nursing　sick　animals；　tending　silkworms；　or　playing　
the　flute　in　their　bedrooms。　The　distinction　between　
the　elder　children　and　the　younger　corresponded　almost　
to　the　distinction　between　a　higher　class　and　a　lower　
one；　for　with　only　a　haphazard　education　and　insufficient　
allowances；　the　younger　children　had　picked　up　acplishments；　
friends；　and　points　of　view　which　were　not　to　
be　found　within　the　walls　of　a　public　school　or　of　a　Government　
office。　Between　the　two　divisions　there　was　considerable　
hostility；　the　elder　trying　to　patronize　the　
younger；　the　younger　refusing　to　respect　the　elder；　but　
one　feeling　united　them　and　instantly　closed　any　risk　of　
a　breach—their　mon　belief　in　the　superiority　of　their　
own　family　to　all　others。　Henry　was　the　eldest　of