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the following morning； “Mrs。 Milvain is in the kitchen。”
A long wicker basket of flowers and branches had arrived
from the country； and Katharine； kneeling upon the
floor of the drawingroom； was sorting them while
Cassandra watched her from an armchair； and absentmindedly
made spasmodic offers of help which were not
accepted。 The maid’s message had a curious effect upon
Katharine。
She rose； walked to the window； and； the maid being
gone； said emphatically and even tragically：
“You know what that means。”
Cassandra had understood nothing。
“Aunt Celia is in the kitchen；” Katharine repeated。
“Why in the kitchen？” Cassandra asked； not unnaturally。
“Probably because she’s discovered something；”
Katharine replied。 Cassandra’s thoughts flew to the subject
of her preoccupation。
“About us？” she inquired。
“Heaven knows；” Katharine replied。 “I shan’t let her
stay in the kitchen； though。 I shall bring her up here。”
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Night and Day
The sternness with which this was said suggested that
to bring Aunt Celia upstairs was； for some reason； a disciplinary
measure。
“For goodness’ sake； Katharine；” Cassandra exclaimed；
jumping from her chair and showing signs of agitation；
“don’t be rash。 Don’t let her suspect。 Remember； nothing’s
certain—”
Katharine assured her by nodding her head several times；
but the manner in which she left the room was not calculated
to inspire plete confidence in her diplomacy。
Mrs。 Milvain was sitting； or rather perching； upon the
edge of a chair in the servants’ room。 Whether there was
any sound reason for her choice of a subterranean chamber；
or whether it corresponded with the spirit of her
quest； Mrs。 Milvain invariably came in by the back door
and sat in the servants’ room when she was engaged in
confidential family transactions。 The ostensible reason
she gave was that neither Mr。 nor Mrs。 Hilbery should be
disturbed。 But； in truth； Mrs。 Milvain depended even more
than most elderly women of her generation upon the delicious
emotions of intimacy； agony； and secrecy； and the
additional thrill provided by the basement was one not
lightly to be forfeited。 She protested almost plaintively
when Katharine proposed to go upstairs。
“I’ve something that I want to say to you in private；”
she said； hesitating reluctantly upon the threshold of her
ambush。
“The drawingroom is empty—”
“But we might meet your mother upon the stairs。 We
might disturb your father；” Mrs。 Milvain objected； taking
the precaution to speak in a whisper already。
But as Katharine’s presence was absolutely necessary
to the success of the interview； and as Katharine obstinately
receded up the kitchen stairs； Mrs。 Milvain had no
course but to follow her。 She glanced furtively about her
as she proceeded upstairs； drew her skirts together； and
stepped with circumspection past all doors； whether they
were open or shut。
“Nobody will overhear us？” she murmured； when the parative
sanctuary of the drawingroom had been reached。
“I see that I have interrupted you；” she added； glancing at
the flowers strewn upon the floor。 A moment later she
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Virginia Woolf
inquired； “Was some one sitting with you？” noticing a
handkerchief that Cassandra had dropped in her flight。
“Cassandra was helping me to put the flowers in water；”
said Katharine； and she spoke so firmly and clearly
that Mrs。 Milvain glanced nervously at the main door and
then at the curtain which divided the little room with the
relics from the drawingroom。
“Ah； Cassandra is still with you；” she remarked。 “And
did William send you those lovely flowers？”
Katharine sat down opposite her aunt and said neither
yes nor no。 She looked past her； and it might have been
thought that she was considering very critically the pattern
of the curtains。 Another advantage of the basement；
from Mrs。 Milvain’s point of view； was that it made it
necessary to sit very close together； and the light was
dim pared with that which now poured through three
windows upon Katharine and the basket of flowers； and
gave even the slight angular figure of Mrs。 Milvain herself
a halo of gold。
“They’re from Stogdon House；” said Katharine abruptly；
with a little jerk of her head。
Mrs。 Milvain felt that it would be easier to tell her niece
what she wished to say if they were actually in physical
contact； for the spiritual distance between them was formidable。
Katharine； however； made no overtures； and Mrs。
Milvain； who was possessed of rash but heroic courage；
plunged without preface：
“People are talking about you； Katharine。 That is why I
have e this morning。 You forgive me for saying what
I’d much rather not say？ What I say is only for your own
sake； my child。”
“There’s nothing to forgive yet； Aunt Celia；” said
Katharine； with apparent good humor。
“People are saying that William goes everywhere with
you and Cassandra； and that he is always paying her attentions。
At the Markhams’ dance he sat out five dances
with her。 At the Zoo they were seen alone together。 They
left together。 They never came back here till seven in the
evening。 But that is not all。 They say his manner is very
marked—he is quite different when she is there。”
Mrs。 Milvain； whose words had run themselves together；
and whose voice had raised its tone almost to one of
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Night and Day
protest； here ceased； and looked intently at Katharine； as
if to judge the effect of her munication。 A slight rigidity
had passed over Katharine’s face。 Her lips were
pressed together； her eyes were contracted； and they were
still fixed upon the curtain。 These superficial changes
covered an extreme inner loathing such as might follow
the display of some hideous or indecent spectacle。 The
indecent spectacle was her own action beheld for the
first time from the outside； her aunt’s words made her
realize how infinitely repulsive the body of life is without
its soul。
“Well？” she said at length。
Mrs。 Milvai