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第69章

[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第69章


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stars; facts; which she could hardly hold to for lack of 
knowledge and a kind of shame。 

245 



Night and Day 

When Rodney owned to himself the folly of this prolonged 
silence; and the meanness of such devices; and 
looked up ready to seek some excuse for a good laugh; or 
opening for a confession; he was disconcerted by what 
he saw。 Katharine seemed equally oblivious of what was 
bad or of what was good in him。 Her expression suggested 
concentration upon something entirely remote from 
her surroundings。 The carelessness of her attitude seemed 
to him rather masculine than feminine。 His impulse to 
break up the constraint was chilled; and once more the 
exasperating sense of his own impotency returned to him。 
He could not help contrasting Katharine with his vision 
of the engaging; whimsical Cassandra; Katharine undemonstrative; 
inconsiderate; silent; and yet so notable that 
he could never do without her good opinion。 

She veered round upon him a moment later; as if; when 
her train of thought was ended; she became aware of his 
presence。 

“Have you finished your letter?” she asked。 He thought 
he heard faint amusement in her tone; but not a trace of 
jealousy。 

“No; I’m not going to write any more tonight;” he said。 
“I’m not in the mood for it for some reason。 I can’t say 
what I want to say。” 

“Cassandra won’t know if it’s well written or badly written;” 
Katharine remarked。 

“I’m not so sure about that。 I should say she has a 
good deal of literary feeling。” 

“Perhaps;” said Katharine indifferently。 “You’ve been 
neglecting my education lately; by the way。 I wish you’d 
read something。 Let me choose a book。” So speaking; she 
went across to his bookshelves and began looking in a 
desultory way among his books。 Anything; she thought; 
was better than bickering or the strange silence which 
drove home to her the distance between them。 As she 
pulled one book forward and then another she thought 
ironically of her own certainty not an hour ago; how it 
had vanished in a moment; how she was merely marking 
time as best she could; not knowing in the least where 
they stood; what they felt; or whether William loved her 
or not。 More and more the condition of Mary’s mind seemed 
to her wonderful and enviable—if; indeed; it could be 

246 



Virginia Woolf 

quite as she figured it—if; indeed; simplicity existed for 
any one of the daughters of women。 

“Swift;” she said; at last; taking out a volume at haphazard 
to settle this question at least。 “Let us have some 
Swift。” 

Rodney took the book; held it in front of him; inserted 
one finger between the pages; but said nothing。 His face 
wore a queer expression of deliberation; as if he were 
weighing one thing with another; and would not say anything 
until his mind were made up。 

Katharine; taking her chair beside him; noted his silence 
and looked at him with sudden apprehension。 What 
she hoped or feared; she could not have said; a most 
irrational and indefensible desire for some assurance of 
his affection was; perhaps; uppermost in her mind。 Peevishness; 
plaints; exacting crossexamination she was 
used to; but this attitude of posed quiet; which 
seemed to e from the consciousness of power within; 
puzzled her。 She did not know what was going to happen 
next。 

At last William spoke。 

“I think it’s a little odd; don’t you?” he said; in a voice 
of detached reflection。 “Most people; I mean; would be 
seriously upset if their marriage was put off for six months 
or so。 But we aren’t; now how do you account for that?” 

She looked at him and observed his judicial attitude as 
of one holding far aloof from emotion。 

“I attribute it;” he went on; without waiting for her to 
answer; “to the fact that neither of us is in the least 
romantic about the other。 That may be partly; no doubt; 
because we’ve known each other so long; but I’m inclined 
to think there’s more in it than that。 There’s something 
temperamental。 I think you’re a trifle cold; and I 
suspect I’m a trifle selfabsorbed。 If that were so it goes 
a long way to explaining our odd lack of illusion about 
each other。 I’m not saying that the most satisfactory 
marriages aren’t founded upon this sort of understanding。 
But certainly it struck me as odd this morning; when 
Wilson told me; how little upset I felt。 By the way; you’re 
sure we haven’t mitted ourselves to that house?” 

“I’ve kept the letters; and I’ll go through them tomorrow; 
but I’m certain we’re on the safe side。” 

247 



Night and Day 

“Thanks。 As to the psychological problem;” he continued; 
as if the question interested him in a detached way; 
“there’s no doubt; I think; that either of us is capable of 
feeling what; for reasons of simplicity; I call romance for 
a third person—at least; I’ve little doubt in my own case。” 

It was; perhaps; the first time in all her knowledge of 
him that Katharine had known William enter thus deliberately 
and without sign of emotion upon a statement of 
his own feelings。 He was wont to discourage such intimate 
discussions by a little laugh or turn of the conversation; 
as much as to say that men; or men of the world; 
find such topics a little silly; or in doubtful taste。 His 
obvious wish to explain something puzzled her; interested 
her; and neutralized the wound to her vanity。 For 
some reason; too; she felt more at ease with him than 
usual; or her ease was more the ease of equality—she 
could not stop to think of that at the moment though。 
His remarks interested her too much for the light that 
they threw upon certain problems of her own。 

“What is this romance?” she mused。 

“Ah; that’s the question。 I’ve never e across a defi


nition that satisfied me; though there are some very good 
ones”—he glanced in the direction of his books。 

“It’s not altogether knowing the other person; perhaps— 
it’s ignorance;” she hazarded。 

“Some authorities say it’s a question of distance—romance 
in literature; that is—” 

“Possibly; in the case of art。 But in the case of people it 
may be—” she hesitated。 

“Have you no personal experience of it?” he asked; letting 
his eyes rest upon her swiftly for a moment。 

“I believe it’s influenced me enormously;” she said; in 
the tone of one absorbed by the possibilities of some 
view just presented to them; “but in my life there’s so 
little scope for it;” she added。 She reviewed her daily 
task; the perpetual demands upon her for good sense; 
selfcontrol; and accuracy in a house containing a romantic 
mother。 Ah; but her romance wasn’t that romance。 
It was a desire; an echo; a sound; she could drape it in 
color; see it in form; hear it in music; but not in words; 
no; never in words。 She sighed; teased by desires so incoherent; 
so inmunicable。 

248 



Virginia Woolf 

“But isn’t it curious;” William resumed; “that you should 
neither feel it for me; nor I for you?” 

Katharine agreed that it was curious—very; but even 
more curious to her was the fact that she was discussing 
the question with William。 It revealed possibilities which 
opened a prospect of a new relationship altogether。 Somehow 
it seemed to her that he was helping her to understand 
what she had never understood; and in her gratitude 
she was conscious of a most sisterly desire to help 
him; too—sisterly; save for one pang; not quite to be 
subdued; that for him she was without romance。 

“I think you might be very happy with some one you 
loved in that way;” she said。 

“You assume that romance survives a closer knowledge 
of the person one loves?” 

He asked the question formally; to protect himself from 
the sort of personality which he dreaded。 The whole situation 
needed the most careful management lest it should 
degenerate into some degrading and disturbing exhibition 
such as the scene; which he could never think of 
without shame; upon the heath among the dead leaves。 

And yet each sentence brought him relief。 He was ing 
to understand something or other about his own d

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