city beneath her。 The sight of her gazing from his window
gave him a peculiar satisfaction。 When she turned； at length；
he was still sitting motionless in his chair。
“It must be late；” she said。 “I must be going。” She
settled upon the arm of the chair irresolutely； thinking
that she had no wish to go home。 William would be there；
and he would find some way of making things unpleasant
for her； and the memory of their quarrel came back to her。
She had noticed Ralph’s coldness； too。 She looked at him；
and from his fixed stare she thought that he must be
working out some theory； some argument。 He had thought；
perhaps； of some fresh point in his position； as to the
bounds of personal liberty。 She waited； silently； thinking
about liberty。
“You’ve won again；” he said at last； without moving。
“I’ve won？” she repeated； thinking of the argument。
“I wish to God I hadn’t asked you here；” he burst out。
“What do you mean？”
“When you’re here； it’s different—I’m happy。 You’ve only
to walk to the window—you’ve only to talk about liberty。
When I saw you down there among them all—” He stopped
short。
“You thought how ordinary I was。”
“I tried to think so。 But I thought you more wonderful
than ever。”
An immense relief； and a reluctance to enjoy that relief；
conflicted in her heart。
She slid down into the chair。
“I thought you disliked me；” she said。
“God knows I tried；” he replied。 “I’ve done my best to
see you as you are； without any of this damned romantic
nonsense。 That was why I asked you here； and it’s increased
my folly。 When you’re gone I shall look out of
that window and think of you。 I shall waste the whole
evening thinking of you。 I shall waste my whole life； I
believe。”
He spoke with such vehemence that her relief disappeared；
she frowned； and her tone changed to one almost
of severity。
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“This is what I foretold。 We shall gain nothing but unhappiness。
Look at me； Ralph。” He looked at her。 “I assure
you that I’m far more ordinary than I appear。 Beauty
means nothing whatever。 In fact； the most beautiful
women are generally the most stupid。 I’m not that； but
I’m a matteroffact； prosaic； rather ordinary character； I
order the dinner； I pay the bills； I do the accounts； I wind
up the clock； and I never look at a book。”
“You forget—” he began； but she would not let him
speak。
“You e and see me among flowers and pictures； and
think me mysterious； romantic； and all the rest of it。 Being
yourself very inexperienced and very emotional； you
go home and invent a story about me； and now you can’t
separate me from the person you’ve imagined me to be。
You call that； I suppose； being in love； as a matter of fact
it’s being in delusion。 All romantic people are the same；”
she added。 “My mother spends her life in making stories
about the people she’s fond of。 But I won’t have you do it
about me； if I can help it。”
“You can’t help it；” he said。
“I warn you it’s the source of all evil。”
“And of all good；” he added。
“You’ll find out that I’m not what you think me。”
“Perhaps。 But I shall gain more than I lose。”
“If such gain’s worth having。”
They were silent for a space。
“That may be what we have to face；” he said。 “There
may be nothing else。 Nothing but what we imagine。”
“The reason of our loneliness；” she mused； and they
were silent for a time。
“When are you to be married？” he asked abruptly； with
a change of tone。
“Not till September； I think。 It’s been put off。”
“You won’t be lonely then；” he said。 “According to what
people say； marriage is a very queer business。 They say
it’s different from anything else。 It may be true。 I’ve known
one or two cases where it seems to be true。” He hoped
that she would go on with the subject。 But she made no
reply。 He had done his best to master himself； and his
voice was sufficiently indifferent； but her silence tormented
him。 She would never speak to him of Rodney of
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Virginia Woolf
her own accord； and her reserve left a whole continent of
her soul in darkness。
“It may be put off even longer than that；” she said； as
if by an afterthought。 “Some one in the office is ill； and
William has to take his place。 We may put it off for some
time in fact。”
“That’s rather hard on him； isn’t it？” Ralph asked。
“He has his work；” she replied。 “He has lots of things
that interest him… 。 I know I’ve been to that place；” she
broke off； pointing to a photograph。 “But I can’t remember
where it is—oh； of course it’s Oxford。 Now； what about
your cottage？”
“I’m not going to take it。”
“How you change your mind！” she smiled。
“It’s not that；” he said impatiently。 “It’s that I want to
be where I can see you。”
“Our pact is going to hold in spite of all I’ve said？”
she asked。
“For ever； so far as I’m concerned；” he replied。
“You’re going to go on dreaming and imagining and
making up stories about me as you walk along the street；
and pretending that we’re riding in a forest； or landing
on an island—”
“No。 I shall think of you ordering dinner； paying bills；
doing the accounts； showing old ladies the relics—”
“That’s better；” she said。 “You can think of me tomorrow
morning looking up dates in the ‘Dictionary of National
Biography。’”
“And forgetting your purse；” Ralph added。
At this she smiled； but in another moment her smile
faded； either because of his words or of the way in which
he spoke them。 She was capable of forgetting things。 He
saw that。 But what more did he see？ Was he not looking
at something she had never shown to anybody？ Was it
not something so profound that the notion of his seeing
it almost shocked her？ Her smile faded； and for a moment
she seemed upon the point of speaking； but looking at
him in silence； with a look that seemed to ask what she
could not put into words； she turned and bade him good
night。
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Night and Day
CHAPTER XXVIII
Like a strain of music； the effect of Katharine’s presence
slowly died from the room in which Ralph sat alone。 The
music had ceased in the rapture of its melody。 He strained
to catch the faintest lingering echoes； for a moment the
memory lulled him into peace； but soon it failed； and he
paced the room so hungry for the sound to e again
that he was conscious of no other desire left in life。 She
had gone without speaking； abruptly a chasm had been
cut in his course； down which the tide of his being plunged
in disorder； fell upon rocks； flung itself to destruction。
The distress had an effect of physical ruin and disaster。
He trembled； he was white； he felt exhausted； as if by a
great physical effort。 He sank at last into a chair standing
opposite her empty one； and marked； mechanically；
with his eye upon the clock； how she went farther and
farther from him； was home now； and now； doubtless；
again with Rodney。 But it was long before he could realize