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announced it； had evidently been pressing for utterance
for some time past。
“Oh； Trevor； please tell me； what was the date of the
first performance of ‘Hamlet’？”
In order to answer her Mr。 Hilbery had to have recourse
to the exact scholarship of William Rodney； and before he
had given his excellent authorities for believing as he
believed； Rodney felt himself admitted once more to the
society of the civilized and sanctioned by the authority
of no less a person than Shakespeare himself。 The power
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of literature； which had temporarily deserted Mr。 Hilbery；
now came back to him； pouring over the raw ugliness of
human affairs its soothing balm； and providing a form
into which such passions as he had felt so painfully the
night before could be molded so that they fell roundly
from the tongue in shapely phrases； hurting nobody。 He
was sufficiently sure of his mand of language at length
to look at Katharine and again at Denham。 All this talk
about Shakespeare had acted as a soporific； or rather as
an incantation upon Katharine。 She leaned back in her
chair at the head of the teatable； perfectly silent； looking
vaguely past them all； receiving the most generalized
ideas of human heads against pictures； against yellow
tinted walls； against curtains of deep crimson velvet。
Denham； to whom he turned next； shared her immobility
under his gaze。 But beneath his restraint and calm it was
possible to detect a resolution； a will； set now with unalterable
tenacity； which made such turns of speech as Mr。
Hilbery had at mand appear oddly irrelevant。 At any
rate； he said nothing。 He respected the young man； he
was a very able young man； he was likely to get his own
way。 He could； he thought； looking at his still and very
dignified head； understand Katharine’s preference； and；
as he thought this； he was surprised by a pang of acute
jealousy。 She might have married Rodney without causing
him a twinge。 This man she loved。 Or what was the
state of affairs between them？ An extraordinary confusion
of emotion was beginning to get the better of him；
when Mrs。 Hilbery； who had been conscious of a sudden
pause in the conversation； and had looked wistfully at
her daughter once or twice； remarked：
“Don’t stay if you want to go； Katharine。 There’s the
little room over there。 Perhaps you and Ralph—”
“We’re engaged；” said Katharine； waking with a start；
and looking straight at her father。 He was taken aback by
the directness of the statement； he exclaimed as if an
unexpected blow had struck him。 Had he loved her to see
her swept away by this torrent； to have her taken from
him by this uncontrollable force； to stand by helpless；
ignored？ Oh； how he loved her！ How he loved her！ He
nodded very curtly to Denham。
“I gathered something of the kind last night；” he said。
435
Night and Day
“I hope you’ll deserve her。” But he never looked at his
daughter； and strode out of the room； leaving in the minds
of the women a sense； half of awe； half of amusement； at
the extravagant； inconsiderate； uncivilized male； outraged
somehow and gone bellowing to his lair with a roar which
still sometimes reverberates in the most polished of draw
ingrooms。 Then Katharine； looking at the shut door；
looked down again； to hide her tears。
CHAPTER XXXIV
The lamps were lit； their luster reflected itself in the polished
wood； good wine was passed round the dinner
table； before the meal was far advanced civilization had
triumphed； and Mr。 Hilbery presided over a feast which
came to wear more and more surely an aspect； cheerful；
dignified； promising well for the future。 To judge from
the expression in Katharine’s eyes it promised something—
but he checked the approach sentimentality。 He
poured out wine； he bade Denham help himself。
They went upstairs and he saw Katharine and Denham
abstract themselves directly Cassandra had asked whether
she might not play him something —some Mozart？ some
Beethoven？ She sat down to the piano； the door closed
softly behind them。 His eyes rested on the closed door
for some seconds unwaveringly； but； by degrees； the look
of expectation died out of them； and； with a sigh； he
listened to the music。
Katharine and Ralph were agreed with scarcely a word
of discussion as to what they wished to do； and in a
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Virginia Woolf
moment she joined him in the hall dressed for walking。
The night was still and moonlit； fit for walking； though
any night would have seemed so to them； desiring more
than anything movement； freedom from scrutiny； silence；
and the open air。
“At last！” she breathed； as the front door shut。 She told
him how she had waited； fidgeted； thought he was never
ing； listened for the sound of doors； half expected to
see him again under the lamppost； looking at the house。
They turned and looked at the serene front with its gold
rimmed windows； to him the shrine of so much adoration。
In spite of her laugh and the little pressure of mockery
on his arm； he would not resign his belief； but with
her hand resting there； her voice quickened and mysteriously
moving in his ears； he had not time—they had not
the same inclination—other objects drew his attention。
How they came to find themselves walking down a street
with many lamps； corners radiant with light； and a steady
succession of motoromnibuses plying both ways along
it； they could neither of them tell； nor account for the
impulse which led them suddenly to select one of these
wayfarers and mount to the very front seat。 After curving
through streets of parative darkness； so narrow that
shadows on the blinds were pressed within a few feet of
their faces； they came to one of those great knots of
activity where the lights； having drawn close together；
thin out again and take their separate ways。 They were
borne on until they saw the spires of the city churches
pale and flat against the sky。
“Are you cold？” he asked； as they stopped by Temple Bar。
“Yes； I am rather；” she replied； being con