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356
Virginia Woolf
not angry with me； are you； Katharine？”
She could not bring herself to answer him until she had
rid her mind of the impression that her aunt had made on
her。 It seemed to her that the very flowers were contaminated；
and Cassandra’s pockethandkerchief； for Mrs。
Milvain had used them for evidence in her investigations。
“She’s been spying upon us；” she said； “following us
about London； overhearing what people are saying—”
“Mrs。 Milvain？” Rodney exclaimed。 “What has she told
you？”
His air of open confidence entirely vanished。
“Oh； people are saying that you’re in love with Cassandra；
and that you don’t care for me。”
“They have seen us？” he asked。
“Everything we’ve done for a fortnight has been seen。”
“I told you that would happen！” he exclaimed。
He walked to the window in evident perturbation。
Katharine was too indignant to attend to him。 She was
swept away by the force of her own anger。 Clasping
Rodney’s flowers； she stood upright and motionless。
Rodney turned away from the window。
“It’s all been a mistake；” he said。 “I blame myself for it。
I should have known better。 I let you persuade me in a
moment of madness。 I beg you to forget my insanity；
Katharine。”
“She wished even to persecute Cassandra！” Katharine
burst out； not listening to him。 “She threatened to speak
to her。 She’s capable of it—she’s capable of anything！”
“Mrs。 Milvain is not tactful； I know； but you exaggerate；
Katharine。 People are talking about us。 She was right
to tell us。 It only confirms my own feeling—the position
is monstrous。”
At length Katharine realized some part of what he meant。
“You don’t mean that this influences you； William？”
she asked in amazement。
“It does；” he said； flushing。 “It’s intensely disagreeable
to me。 I can’t endure that people should gossip about
us。 And then there’s your cousin—Cassandra—” He paused
in embarrassment。
“I came here this morning； Katharine；” he resumed； with
a change of voice； “to ask you to forget my folly； my bad
temper； my inconceivable behavior。 I came； Katharine； to
357
Night and Day
ask whether we can’t return to the position we were in
before this—this season of lunacy。 Will you take me back；
Katharine； once more and for ever？”
No doubt her beauty； intensified by emotion and enhanced
by the flowers of bright color and strange shape
which she carried wrought upon Rodney； and had its share
in bestowing upon her the old romance。 But a less noble
passion worked in him； too； he was inflamed by jealousy。
His tentative offer of affection had been rudely and； as
he thought； pletely repulsed by Cassandra on the preceding
day。 Denham’s confession was in his mind。 And
ultimately； Katharine’s dominion over him was of the sort
that the fevers of the night cannot exorcise。
“I was as much to blame as you were yesterday；” she
said gently； disregarding his question。 “I confess； William；
the sight of you and Cassandra together made me
jealous； and I couldn’t control myself。 I laughed at you； I
know。”
“You jealous！” William exclaimed。 “l assure you；
Katharine； you’ve not the slightest reason to be jealous。
Cassandra dislikes me； so far as she feels about me at all。
I was foolish enough to try to explain the nature of our
relationship。 I couldn’t resist telling her what I supposed
myself to feel for her。 She refused to listen； very rightly。
But she left me in no doubt of her scorn。”
Katharine hesitated。 She was confused； agitated； physically
tired； and had already to reckon with the violent
feeling of dislike aroused by her aunt which still vibrated
through all the rest of her feelings。 She sank into a chair
and dropped her flowers upon her lap。
“She charmed me；” Rodney continued。 “I thought I loved
her。 But that’s a thing of the past。 It’s all over； Katharine。
It was a dream—an hallucination。 We were both equally
to blame； but no harm’s done if you believe how truly I
care for you。 Say you believe me！”
He stood over her； as if in readiness to seize the first
sign of her assent。 Precisely at that moment； owing； perhaps；
to her vicissitudes of feeling； all sense of love left
her； as in a moment a mist lifts from the earth。 And when
the mist departed a skeleton world and blankness alone
remained—a terrible prospect for the eyes of the living
to behold。 He saw the look of terror in her face； and
358
Virginia Woolf
without understanding its origin； took her hand in his。
With the sense of panionship returned a desire； like
that of a child for shelter； to accept what he had to offer
her—and at that moment it seemed that he offered her
the only thing that could make it tolerable to live。 She
let him press his lips to her cheek； and leant her head
upon his arm。 It was the moment of his triumph。 It was
the only moment in which she belonged to him and was
dependent upon his protection。
“Yes； yes； yes；” he murmured； “you accept me； Katharine。
You love me。”
For a moment she remained silent。 He then heard her
murmur：
“Cassandra loves you more than I do。”
“Cassandra？” he whispered。
“She loves you；” Katharine repeated。 She raised herself
and repeated the sentence yet a third time。 “She loves
you。”
William slowly raised himself。 He believed instinctively
what Katharine said； but what it meant to him he was
unable to understand。 Could Cassandra love him？ Could
she have told Katharine that she loved him？ The desire
to know the truth of this was urgent； unknown though
the consequences might be。 The thrill of excitement associated
with the thought of Cassandra once more took
possession of him。 No longer was it the excitement of
anticipation and ignorance； it was the excitement of something
greater than a possibility； for now he knew her and
had measure of the sympathy between them。 But who
could give him certainty？ Could Katharine； Katharine who
had lately lain in his arms； Katharine herself the most
admired of w