[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第23部分

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said　Mrs。　Hilbery；　looking　with　pride　at　her　daughter。　
“Still；　I　don’t　know　that　I　like　your　being　out　so　late；　
Katharine；”　she　continued。　“You　took　a　cab；　I　hope？”　

Here　dinner　was　announced；　and　Mr。　Hilbery　formally　
led　his　wife　downstairs　on　his　arm。　They　were　all　dressed　
for　dinner；　and；　indeed；　the　prettiness　of　the　dinnertable　
merited　that　pliment。　There　was　no　cloth　upon　the　
table；　and　the　china　made　regular　circles　of　deep　blue　
upon　the　shining　brown　wood。　In　the　middle　there　was　a　
bowl　of　tawny　red　and　yellow　chrysanthemums；　and　one　
of　pure　white；　so　fresh　that　the　narrow　petals　were　curved　
backwards　into　a　firm　white　ball。　From　the　surrounding　
walls　the　heads　of　three　famous　Victorian　writers　surveyed　
this　entertainment；　and　slips　of　paper　pasted　beneath　
them　testified　in　the　great　man’s　own　handwriting　

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Night　and　Day　

that　he　was　yours　sincerely　or　affectionately　or　for　ever。　
The　father　and　daughter　would　have　been　quite　content；　
apparently；　to　eat　their　dinner　in　silence；　or　with　a　few　
cryptic　remarks　expressed　in　a　shorthand　which　could　not　
be　understood　by　the　servants。　But　silence　depressed　Mrs。　
Hilbery；　and　far　from　minding　the　presence　of　maids；　she　
would　often　address　herself　to　them；　and　was　never　altogether　
unconscious　of　their　approval　or　disapproval　of　
her　remarks。　In　the　first　place　she　called　them　to　witness　
that　the　room　was　darker　than　usual；　and　had　all　the　
lights　turned　on。　

“That’s　more　cheerful；”　she　exclaimed。　“D’you　know；　
Katharine；　that　ridiculous　goose　came　to　tea　with　me？　
Oh；　how　I　wanted　you！　He　tried　to　make　epigrams　all　the　
time；　and　I　got　so　nervous；　expecting　them；　you　know；　
that　I　spilt　the　tea—and　he　made　an　epigram　about　that！”　
“Which　ridiculous　goose？”　Katharine　asked　her　father。　

“Only　one　of　my　geese；　happily；　makes　epigrams—　
Augustus　Pelham；　of　course；”　said　Mrs。　Hilbery。　

“I’m　not　sorry　that　I　was　out；”　said　Katharine。　

“Poor　Augustus！”　Mrs。　Hilbery　exclaimed。　“But　we’re　all　

too　hard　on　him。　Remember　how　devoted　he　is　to　his　
tiresome　old　mother。”　

“That’s　only　because　she　is　his　mother。　Any　one　connected　
with　himself—”　

“No；　no；　Katharine—that’s　too　bad。　That’s—what’s　the　
word　I　mean；　Trevor；　something　long　and　Latin—the　sort　
of　word　you　and　Katharine　know—”　

Mr。　Hilbery　suggested　“cynical。”　

“Well；　that’ll　do。　I　don’t　believe　in　sending　girls　to　college；　
but　I　should　teach　them　that　sort　of　thing。　It　makes　
one　feel　so　dignified；　bringing　out　these　little　allusions；　
and　passing　on　gracefully　to　the　next　topic。　But　I　don’t　
know　what’s　e　over　me—I　actually　had　to　ask　Augustus　
the　name　of　the　lady　Hamlet　was　in　love　with；　as　you　
were　out；　Katharine；　and　Heaven　knows　what　he　mayn’t　
put　down　about　me　in　his　diary。”　

“I　wish；”　Katharine　started；　with　great　impetuosity；　and　
checked　herself。　Her　mother　always　stirred　her　to　feel　
and　think　quickly；　and　then　she　remembered　that　her　father　
was　there；　listening　with　attention。　

“What　is　it　you　wish？”　he　asked；　as　she　paused。　

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He　often　surprised　her；　thus；　into　telling　him　what　she　
had　not　meant　to　tell　him；　and　then　they　argued；　while　
Mrs。　Hilbery　went　on　with　her　own　thoughts。　

“I　wish　mother　wasn’t　famous。　I　was　out　at　tea；　and　
they　would　talk　to　me　about　poetry。”　

“Thinking　you　must　be　poetical；　I　see—and　aren’t　you？”　

“Who’s　been　talking　to　you　about　poetry；　Katharine？”　
Mrs。　Hilbery　demanded；　and　Katharine　was　mitted　to　
giving　her　parents　an　account　of　her　visit　to　the　Suffrage　
office。　

“They　have　an　office　at　the　top　of　one　of　the　old　houses　
in　Russell　Square。　I　never　saw　such　queerlooking　people。　
And　the　man　discovered　I　was　related　to　the　poet；　and　
talked　to　me　about　poetry。　Even　Mary　Datchet　seems　different　
in　that　atmosphere。”　

“Yes；　the　office　atmosphere　is　very　bad　for　the　soul；”　
said　Mr。　Hilbery。　

“I　don’t　remember　any　offices　in　Russell　Square　in　the　
old　days；　when　Mamma　lived　there；”　Mrs。　Hilbery　mused；　
“and　I　can’t　fancy　turning　one　of　those　noble　great　rooms　
into　a　stuffy　little　Suffrage　office。　Still；　if　the　clerks　read　

poetry　there　must　be　something　nice　about　them。”　

“No；　because　they　don’t　read　it　as　we　read　it；”　Katharine　
insisted。　

“But　it’s　nice　to　think　of　them　reading　your　grandfather；　
and　not　filling　up　those　dreadful　little　forms　all　day　
long；”　Mrs。　Hilbery　persisted；　her　notion　of　office　life　
being　derived　from　some　chance　view　of　a　scene　behind　
the　counter　at　her　bank；　as　she　slipped　the　sovereigns　
into　her　purse。　

“At　any　rate；　they　haven’t　made　a　convert　of　Katharine；　
which　was　what　I　was　afraid　of；”　Mr。　Hilbery　remarked。　

“Oh　no；”　said　Katharine　very　decidedly；　“I　wouldn’t　work　
with　them　for　anything。”　

“It’s　curious；”　Mr。　Hilbery　continued；　agreeing　with　his　
daughter；　“how　the　sight　of　one’s　fellowenthusiasts　always　
chokes　one　off。　They　show　up　the　faults　of　one’s　
cause　so　much　more　plainly　than　one’s　antagonists。　One　
can　be　enthusiastic　in　one’s　study；　but　directly　one　es　
into　touch　with　the　people　who　agree　with　one；　all　the　
glamor　goes。　So　I’ve　always　found；”　and　he　proceeded　to　
tell　them；　as　he　peeled　his　apple；　how　he　mitted　him


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Night　and　Day　

self　once；　in　his　youthful　days；　to　make　a　speech　at　a　
political　meeting；　and　went　there　ablaze　with　enthusiasm　
for　the　ideals　of　his　own　side；　but　while　his　leaders　spoke；　
he　became　gradually　converted　to　the　other　way　of　thinking；　
if　thinking　it　could　be　called；　and　had　to　feign　illness　
in　order　to　avoid　making　a　fool　of　himself—an　experience　
which　had　sickened　him　of　public　meetings。　

Katharine　listened　and　felt　as　she　generally　did　when　
her　father；　and　to　some　extent　her　mother；　described　their　
feelings；　that　she　quite　understood　and　agreed　with　them；　
but；　at　the　same　time；　saw　something　which　they　did　not　
see；　and　always　felt　some　disappointment　when　they　fell　
short　of　her　vision；　as　they　always　did。　The　plates　succeeded　
each　other　swiftly　and　noiselessly　in　front　of　her；　
and　the　table　was　decked　for　dessert；　and　as　the　talk　
murmured　on　in　familiar　grooves；　she　sat　there；　rather　
like　a　judge；　listening　to　her　parents；　who　did；　indeed；　
feel　it　very　pleasant　when　they　made　her　laugh。　

Daily　life　in　a　house　where　there　are　young　and　old　is　
full　of　curious　little　ceremonies　and　pieties；　which　are　
discharged　quite　punctually；　though　the　meaning　of　them　

is　obscure；　and　a　mystery　has　e　to　brood　over　them　
which　lends　even　a　superstitious　charm　to　their　performance。　
Such　was　the　nightly　ceremony　of　the　cigar　and　
the　glass　of　port；　which　were　placed　on　the　right　hand　
and　on　the　left　hand　of　Mr。　Hilbery；　and　simultaneously　
Mrs。　Hilbery　and　Katharine　left　the　room。　All　the　years　
they　had　lived　together　they　had　never　seen　Mr。　Hilbery　
smoke　his　cigar　or　drink　his　port；　and　they　would　have　
felt　it　unseemly　if；　by　chance；　they　had　surprised　him　as　
he　sat　there。　These　short；　but　clearly　marked；　periods　of　
separation　between　the　sexes　were　always　used　for　an　
intimate　postscript　to　what　had　been　said　at　dinner；　the　
sense　of　being　women　together　ing　out　most　strongly　
when　the　male　sex　was；　as　if　by　some　religious　rite；　secluded　
from　the　female。　Katharine　knew　by　heart　the　sort　
of　mood　that　possessed　her　as　she　walked　upstairs　to　the　
drawingroom；　her　mother’s　arm　in　hers；　and　she　could　
anticipate　the　pleasure　with　which；　when　she　had　turned　
on　the　lights；　they　both　regarded　the　drawingroom；　fresh　
swept　and　set　in　order　for　the　last　section　of　the　day；　
with　the　red　parrots　swinging　on　the　chintz　curtains；　and　

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the　armchairs　warming　in　the　blaze。　Mrs。　Hilbery　stood　
over　the　fire；　with　one　foot　on　the　fender；　and　her　skirts　
slightly　raised。　

“Oh；　Katharine；”　she　exclaimed；　“how　you’ve　made　me　
think　of　Mamma　and　the　old　days　in　Russell　Square！　I　can　
see　the　chandeliers；　and　the　green　silk　of　the　piano；　and　
Mamma　sitting　in　her　cashmere　shawl　by　the　window；　
singing　till　the