[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第67章
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mind that if Ralph had any feeling towards her it was one
of critical hostility。 She did not give the matter another
thought; and Mary; now that she had stated the fact; did
not seek to prove it; but tried to explain to herself; rather
than to Katharine; her motives in making the statement。
She had nerved herself to do what some large and imperious
instinct demanded her doing; she had been swept
on the breast of a wave beyond her reckoning。
“I’ve told you;” she said; “because I want you to help
me。 I don’t want to be jealous of you。 And I am—I’m
fearfully jealous。 The only way; I thought; was to tell
you。”
She hesitated; and groped in her endeavor to make her
feelings clear to herself。
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“If I tell you; then we can talk; and when I’m jealous; I
can tell you。 And if I’m tempted to do something frightfully
mean; I can tell you; you could make me tell you。 I
find talking so difficult; but loneliness frightens me。 I
should shut it up in my mind。 Yes; that’s what I’m afraid
of。 Going about with something in my mind all my life
that never changes。 I find it so difficult to change。 When
I think a thing’s wrong I never stop thinking it wrong;
and Ralph was quite right; I see; when he said that there’s
no such thing as right and wrong; no such thing; I mean;
as judging people—”
“Ralph Denham said that?” said Katharine; with considerable
indignation。 In order to have produced such suffering
in Mary; it seemed to her that he must have behaved
with extreme callousness。 It seemed to her that he had
discarded the friendship; when it suited his convenience
to do so; with some falsely philosophical theory which
made his conduct all the worse。 She was going on to express
herself thus; had not Mary at once interrupted her。
“No; no;” she said; “you don’t understand。 If there’s
any fault it’s mine entirely; after all; if one chooses to
run risks—”
Her voice faltered into silence。 It was borne in upon
her how pletely in running her risk she had lost her
prize; lost it so entirely that she had no longer the right;
in talking of Ralph; to presume that her knowledge of
him supplanted all other knowledge。 She no longer pletely
possessed her love; since his share in it was doubtful;
and now; to make things yet more bitter; her clear
vision of the way to face life was rendered tremulous and
uncertain; because another was witness of it。 Feeling her
desire for the old unshared intimacy too great to be borne
without tears; she rose; walked to the farther end of the
room; held the curtains apart; and stood there mastered
for a moment。 The grief itself was not ignoble; the sting
of it lay in the fact that she had been led to this act of
treachery against herself。 Trapped; cheated; robbed; first
by Ralph and then by Katharine; she seemed all dissolved
in humiliation; and bereft of anything she could call her
own。 Tears of weakness welled up and rolled down her
cheeks。 But tears; at least; she could control; and would
this instant; and then; turning; she would face Katharine;
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and retrieve what could be retrieved of the collapse of
her courage。
She turned。 Katharine had not moved; she was leaning
a little forward in her chair and looking into the fire。
Something in the attitude reminded Mary of Ralph。 So he
would sit; leaning forward; looking rather fixedly in front
of him; while his mind went far away; exploring; speculating;
until he broke off with his; “Well; Mary?”—and
the silence; that had been so full of romance to her; gave
way to the most delightful talk that she had ever known。
Something unfamiliar in the pose of the silent figure;
something still; solemn; significant about it; made her
hold her breath。 She paused。 Her thoughts were without
bitterness。 She was surprised by her own quiet and confidence。
She came back silently; and sat once more by
Katharine’s side。 Mary had no wish to speak。 In the silence
she seemed to have lost her isolation; she was at
once the sufferer and the pitiful spectator of suffering;
she was happier than she had ever been; she was more
bereft; she was rejected; and she was immensely beloved。
Attempt to express these sensations was vain; and; more
over; she could not help believing that; without any words
on her side; they were shared。 Thus for some time longer
they sat silent; side by side; while Mary fingered the fur
on the skirt of the old dress。
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CHAPTER XXII
The fact that she would be late in keeping her engagement
with William was not the only reason which sent
Katharine almost at racing speed along the Strand in the
direction of his rooms。 Punctuality might have been
achieved by taking a cab; had she not wished the open
air to fan into flame the glow kindled by Mary’s words。
For among all the impressions of the evening’s talk one
was of the nature of a revelation and subdued the rest to
insignificance。 Thus one looked; thus one spoke; such
was love。
“She sat up straight and looked at me; and then she
said; ‘I’m in love;’” Katharine mused; trying to set the
whole scene in motion。 It was a scene to dwell on with so
much wonder that not a grain of pity occurred to her; it
was a flame blazing suddenly in the dark; by its light
Katharine perceived far too vividly for her fort the
mediocrity; indeed the entirely fictitious character of her
own feelings so far as they pretended to correspond with
Mary’s feelings。 She made up her mind to act instantly
upon the knowledge thus gained; and cast her mind in
amazement back to the scene upon the heath; when she
had yielded; heaven knows why; for reasons which seemed
now imperceptible。 So in broad daylight one might revisit
the place where one has groped and turned and
succumbed to utter bewilderment in a fog。
“It’s all so simple;” she said to herself。 “There can’t be
any doubt。 I’ve only got to speak now。 I’ve only got to
speak;” she went on saying; in time to her own footsteps;
and pletely forgot Mary Datchet。
William Rodney; having e back earlier from the office
than he expected; sat down to pick out the melodies
in “The Magic Flute” upon the piano。 Katharine was late;
but that was nothing new; and; as she had no particular
liking for music; and he felt in the mood for it; perhaps it
was as well。 This defect in Katharine was the more strange;
William reflected; because; as a rule; the women of her
family were unusually musical。 Her cousin; Cassandra
Otway; for example; had a very fine taste in music; and
he had charming recollections of her in a light fantastic
attitude; playing the flute in the morningroom at Stogdon
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House。 He recalled with pleasure the amusing way in which
her nose; long like all the Otway noses; seemed to extend
itself into the flute; as if she were some inimitably graceful
species of musical mole。 The little picture suggested
very happily her melodious and whimsical temperament。
The enthusiasms of a young girl of distinguished upbringing
appealed to William; and suggested a thousand ways
in which; with his training and acplishments; he could
be of service to her。 She ought to be given the chance of
hearing good music; as it is played by those who have
inherited the great tradition。 Moreover; from one or two
remarks let fall in the course of conversation; he thought
it possible that she had what Katharine professed to lack;
a passionate; if untaught; appreciation of literature。 He
had lent her his play。 Meanwhile; as Katharine was certain
to be late; and “The Magic Flute” is nothing without
a voice; he felt inclined to spend the time of waiting in
writing a letter to Cassandra; exhorting her to read Pope
in preference to Dostoevsky; until her feeling for form
was more highly developed。 He set himself down to pose
this piece of advice in a shape which was light and
playful; and yet did no injury to a cause which he had
near at heart; when he heard Katharine upon the stairs。