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第49章

[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 

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