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[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第26部分


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Hilbery replied with unwonted decision and authority。 
“Indeed; I don’t understand why they’ve dragged you into 
the business at all—I don’t see that it’s got anything to 
do with you。” 

“I’ve always been friends with Cyril;” Katharine observed。 

“But did he ever tell you anything about this?” Mr。 
Hilbery asked rather sharply。 

Katharine shook her head。 She was; indeed; a good deal 
hurt that Cyril had not confided in her—did he think; as 
Ralph Denham or Mary Datchet might think; that she was; 
for some reason; unsympathetic—hostile even? 

“As to your mother;” said Mr。 Hilbery; after a pause; in 

which he seemed to be considering the color of the flames; 
“you had better tell her the facts。 She’d better know the 
facts before every one begins to talk about it; though 
why Aunt Celia thinks it necessary to e; I’m sure I 
don’t know。 And the less talk there is the better。” 

Granting the assumption that gentlemen of sixty who 
are highly cultivated; and have had much experience of 
life; probably think of many things which they do not say; 
Katharine could not help feeling rather puzzled by her 
father’s attitude; as she went back to her room。 What a 
distance he was from it all! How superficially he smoothed 
these events into a semblance of decency which harmonized 
with his own view of life! He never wondered what 
Cyril had felt; nor did the hidden aspects of the case tempt 
him to examine into them。 He merely seemed to realize; 
rather languidly; that Cyril had behaved in a way which 
was foolish; because other people did not behave in that 
way。 He seemed to be looking through a telescope at little 
figures hundreds of miles in the distance。 

Her selfish anxiety not to have to tell Mrs。 Hilbery what 
had happened made her follow her father into the hall 

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Virginia Woolf 

after breakfast the next morning in order to question 
him。 

“Have you told mother?” she asked。 Her manner to her 
father was almost stern; and she seemed to hold endless 
depths of reflection in the dark of her eyes。 

Mr。 Hilbery sighed。 

“My dear child; it went out of my head。” He smoothed 
his silk hat energetically; and at once affected an air of 
hurry。 “I’ll send a note round from the office… 。 I’m late 
this morning; and I’ve any amount of proofs to get 
through。” 

“That wouldn’t do at all;” Katharine said decidedly。 “She 
must be told—you or I must tell her。 We ought to have 
told her at first。” 

Mr。 Hilbery had now placed his hat on his head; and his 
hand was on the doorknob。 An expression which Katharine 
knew well from her childhood; when he asked her to shield 
him in some neglect of duty; came into his eyes; malice; 
humor; and irresponsibility were blended in it。 He nodded 
his head to and fro significantly; opened the door 
with an adroit movement; and stepped out with a light


ness unexpected at his age。 He waved his hand once to 
his daughter; and was gone。 Left alone; Katharine could 
not help laughing to find herself cheated as usual in domestic 
bargainings with her father; and left to do the 
disagreeable work which belonged; by rights; to him。 

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Night and Day 

CHAPTER IX this morning; and get a lot done。” 

Katharine disliked telling her mother about Cyril’s misbehavior 
quite as much as her father did; and for much the 
same reasons。 They both shrank; nervously; as people fear 
the report of a gun on the stage; from all that would have 
to be said on this occasion。 Katharine; moreover; was 
unable to decide what she thought of Cyril’s misbehavior。 
As usual; she saw something which her father and mother 
did not see; and the effect of that something was to 
suspend Cyril’s behavior in her mind without any qualification 
at all。 They would think whether it was good or 
bad; to her it was merely a thing that had happened。 

When Katharine reached the study; Mrs。 Hilbery had 
already dipped her pen in the ink。 

“Katharine;” she said; lifting it in the air; “I’ve just 
made out such a queer; strange thing about your grandfather。 
I’m three years and six months older than he was 
when he died。 I couldn’t very well have been his mother; 
but I might have been his elder sister; and that seems to 
me such a pleasant fancy。 I’m going to start quite fresh 

She began her sentence; at any rate; and Katharine sat 
down at her own table; untied the bundle of old letters 
upon which she was working; smoothed them out absent
mindedly; and began to decipher the faded script。 
In a minute she looked across at her mother; to judge her 
mood。 Peace and happiness had relaxed every muscle in 
her face; her lips were parted very slightly; and her breath 
came in smooth; controlled inspirations like those of a 
child who is surrounding itself with a building of bricks; 
and increasing in ecstasy as each brick is placed in position。 
So Mrs。 Hilbery was raising round her the skies and 
trees of the past with every stroke of her pen; and recalling 
the voices of the dead。 Quiet as the room was; and 
undisturbed by the sounds of the present moment; 
Katharine could fancy that here was a deep pool of past 
time; and that she and her mother were bathed in the 
light of sixty years ago。 What could the present give; she 
wondered; to pare with the rich crowd of gifts bestowed 
by the past? Here was a Thursday morning in process 
of manufacture; each second was minted fresh by 

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Virginia Woolf 

the clock upon the mantelpiece。 She strained her ears 
and could just hear; far off; the hoot of a motorcar and 
the rush of wheels ing nearer and dying away again; 
and the voices of men crying old iron and vegetables in 
one of the poorer streets at the back of the house。 Rooms; 
of course; accumulate their suggestions; and any room in 
which one has been used to carry on any particular occupation 
gives off memories of moods; of ideas; of postures 
that have been seen in it; so that to attempt any different 
kind of work there is almost impossible。 

Katharine was unconsciously affected; each time she 
entered her mother’s room; by all these influences; which 
had had their birth years ago; when she was a child; and 
had something sweet and solemn about them; and connected 
themselves with early memories of the cavernous 
glooms and sonorous echoes of the Abbey where her grandfather 
lay buried。 All the books and pictures; even the 
chairs and tables; had belonged to him; or had reference 
to him; even the china dogs on the mantelpiece and the 
little shepherdesses with their sheep had been bought by 
him for a penny a piece from a man who used to stand 

with a tray of toys in Kensington High Street; as Katharine 
had often heard her mother tell。 Often she had sat in this 
room; with her mind fixed so firmly on those vanished 
figures that she could almost see the muscles round their 
eyes and lips; and had given to each his own voice; with 
its tricks of accent; and his coat and his cravat。 Often 
she had seemed to herself to be moving among them; an 
invisible ghost among the living; better acquainted with 
them than with her own friends; because she knew their 
secrets and possessed a divine foreknowledge of their 
destiny。 They had been so unhappy; such muddlers; so 
wrongheaded; it seemed to her。 She could have told them 
what to do; and what not to do。 It was a melancholy fact 
that they would pay no heed to her; and were bound to 
e to grief in their own antiquated way。 Their behavior 
was often grotesquely irrational; their conventions 
monstrously absurd; and yet; as she brooded upon them; 
she felt so closely attached to them that it was useless 
to try to pass judgment upon them。 She very nearly lost 
consciousness that she was a separate being; with a future 
of her own。 On a morning of slight depression; such 

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Night and Day 

as this; she would try to find some sort of clue to the 
muddle which their old letters presented; some reason 
which seemed to make it worth while to them; some aim 
which they kept steadily in view—but she was interrupted。 

Mrs。 Hilbery had risen fr

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