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him； and； instead of waiting to answer questions； he
jumped up； thrust himself through the seated bodies into
the corner where Katharine was sitting； and exclaimed；
very audibly：
“Well； Katharine； I hope I’ve made a big enough fool of
myself even for you！ It was terrible！ terrible！ terrible！”
“Hush！ You must answer their questions；” Katharine
whispered； desiring； at all costs； to keep him quiet。 Oddly
enough； when the speaker was no longer in front of them；
there seemed to be much that was suggestive in what he
42
Virginia Woolf
had said。 At any rate； a palefaced young man with sad
eyes was already on his feet； delivering an accurately
worded speech with perfect posure。 William Rodney
listened with a curious lifting of his upper lip； although
his face was still quivering slightly with emotion。
“Idiot！” he whispered。 “He’s misunderstood every word
I said！”
“Well then； answer him；” Katharine whispered back。
“No； I shan’t！ They’d only laugh at me。 Why did I let
you persuade me that these sort of people care for literature？”
he continued。
There was much to be said both for and against Mr。
Rodney’s paper。 It had been crammed with assertions that
suchandsuch passages； taken liberally from English；
French； and Italian； are the supreme pearls of literature。
Further； he was fond of using metaphors which； pounded
in the study； were apt to sound either cramped
or out of place as he delivered them in fragments。 Literature
was a fresh garland of spring flowers； he said； in
which yewberries and the purple nightshade mingled with
the various tints of the anemone； and somehow or other
this garland encircled marble brows。 He had read very
badly some very beautiful quotations。 But through his
manner and his confusion of language there had emerged
some passion of feeling which； as he spoke； formed in
the majority of the audience a little picture or an idea
which each now was eager to give expression to。 Most of
the people there proposed to spend their lives in the
practice either of writing or painting； and merely by looking
at them it could be seen that； as they listened to Mr。
Purvis first； and then to Mr。 Greenhalgh； they were seeing
something done by these gentlemen to a possession
which they thought to be their own。 One person after
another rose； and； as with an illbalanced axe； attempted
to hew out his conception of art a little more clearly； and
sat down with the feeling that； for some reason which he
could not grasp； his strokes had gone awry。 As they sat
down they turned almost invariably to the person sitting
next them； and rectified and continued what they had
just said in public。 Before long； therefore； the groups on
the mattresses and the groups on the chairs were all in
munication with each other； and Mary Datchet； who
43
Night and Day
had begun to darn stockings again； stooped down and
remarked to Ralph：
“That was what I call a firstrate paper。”
Both of them instinctively turned their eyes in the direction
of the reader of the paper。 He was lying back
against the wall； with his eyes apparently shut； and his
chin sunk upon his collar。 Katharine was turning over the
pages of his manuscript as if she were looking for some
passage that had particularly struck her； and had a difficulty
in finding it。
“Let’s go and tell him how much we liked it；” said Mary；
thus suggesting an action which Ralph was anxious to
take； though without her he would have been too proud
to do it； for he suspected that he had more interest in
Katharine than she had in him。
“That was a very interesting paper；” Mary began； without
any shyness； seating herself on the floor opposite to
Rodney and Katharine。 “Will you lend me the manuscript
to read in peace？”
Rodney； who had opened his eyes on their approach；
regarded her for a moment in suspicious silence。
“Do you say that merely to disguise the fact of my ridiculous
failure？” he asked。
Katharine looked up from her reading with a smile。
“He says he doesn’t mind what we think of him；” she
remarked。 “He says we don’t care a rap for art of any
kind。”
“I asked her to pity me； and she teases me！” Rodney
exclaimed。
“I don’t intend to pity you； Mr。 Rodney；” Mary remarked；
kindly； but firmly。 “When a paper’s a failure； nobody says
anything； whereas now； just listen to them！”
The sound； which filled the room； with its hurry of short
syllables； its sudden pauses； and its sudden attacks； might be
pared to some animal hubbub； frantic and inarticulate。
“D’you think that’s all about my paper？” Rodney inquired；
after a moment’s attention； with a distinct brightening
of expression。
“Of course it is；” said Mary。 “It was a very suggestive
paper。”
She turned to Denham for confirmation； and he corroborated
her。
44
Virginia Woolf
“It’s the ten minutes after a paper is read that proves
whether it’s been a success or not；” he said。 “If I were
you； Rodney； I should be very pleased with myself。”
This mendation seemed to fort Mr。 Rodney pletely；
and he began to bethink him of all the passages
in his paper which deserved to be called “suggestive。”
“Did you agree at all； Denham； with what I said about
Shakespeare’s later use of imagery？ I’m afraid I didn’t
altogether make my meaning plain。”
Here he gathered himself together； and by means of a
series of froglike jerks； succeeded in bringing himself
close to Denham。
Denham answered him with the brevity which is the
result of having another sentence in the mind to be addressed
to another person。 He wished to say to Katharine：
“Did you remember to get that picture glazed before your
aunt came to dinner？” but； besides having to answer
Rodney； he was not sure that the remark； with its assertion
of intimacy； would not strike Katharine as impertinent。
She was listening to what some one in another
group was saying。 Rodney； meanwhile； was talking about
the Elizabethan dramatists。
He was a curiouslooking man sinc