into their reign； the grandfather’s clock in the hall ticking
in petition with the small clock on the landing。
Mr。 Hilbery’s study ran out behind the rest of the house；
on the ground floor； and was a very silent； subterranean
place； the sun in daytime casting a mere abstract of light
through a skylight upon his books and the large table；
with its spread of white papers； now illumined by a green
readinglamp。 Here Mr。 Hilbery sat editing his review； or
placing together documents by means of which it could
be proved that Shelley had written “of” instead of “and；”
or that the inn in which Byron had slept was called the
“Nag’s Head” and not the “Turkish Knight；” or that the
Christian name of Keats’s uncle had been John rather
than Richard； for he knew more minute details about these
poets than any man in England； probably； and was preparing
an edition of Shelley which scrupulously observed
the poet’s system of punctuation。 He saw the humor of
these researches； but that did not prevent him from carrying
them out with the utmost scrupulosity。
He was lying back fortably in a deep armchair smoking
a cigar； and ruminating the fruitful question as to
whether Coleridge had wished to marry Dorothy
Wordsworth； and what； if he had done so； would have
been the consequences to him in particular； and to literature
in general。 When Katharine came in he reflected
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Virginia Woolf
that he knew what she had e for； and he made a
pencil note before he spoke to her。 Having done this； he
saw that she was reading； and he watched her for a moment
without saying anything。 She was reading “Isabella
and the Pot of Basil；” and her mind was full of the Italian
hills and the blue daylight； and the hedges set with little
rosettes of red and white roses。 Feeling that her father
waited for her； she sighed and said； shutting her book：
“I’ve had a letter from Aunt Celia about Cyril； father… 。 It
seems to be true—about his marriage。 What are we to do？”
“Cyril seems to have been behaving in a very foolish
manner；” said Mr。 Hilbery； in his pleasant and deliberate
tones。
Katharine found some difficulty in carrying on the conversation；
while her father balanced his fingertips so
judiciously； and seemed to reserve so many of his thoughts
for himself。
“He’s about done for himself； I should say；” he continued。
Without saying anything； he took Katharine’s letters
out of her hand； adjusted his eyeglasses； and read them
through。
At length he said “Humph！” and gave the letters back
to her。
“Mother knows nothing about it；” Katharine remarked。
“Will you tell her？”
“I shall tell your mother。 But I shall tell her that there
is nothing whatever for us to do。”
“But the marriage？” Katharine asked； with some diffidence。
Mr。 Hilbery said nothing； and stared into the fire。
“What in the name of conscience did he do it for？” he
speculated at last； rather to himself than to her。
Katharine had begun to read her aunt’s letter over again；
and she now quoted a sentence。 “Ibsen and Butler… 。 He
has sent me a letter full of quotations—nonsense； though
clever nonsense。”
“Well； if the younger generation want to carry on its
life on those lines； it’s none of our affair；” he remarked。
“But isn’t it our affair； perhaps； to make them get married？”
Katharine asked rather wearily。
“Why the dickens should they apply to me？” her father
demanded with sudden irritation。
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Night and Day
“Only as the head of the family—”
“But I’m not the head of the family。 Alfred’s the head of
the family。 Let them apply to Alfred；” said Mr。 Hilbery；
relapsing again into his armchair。 Katharine was aware
that she had touched a sensitive spot； however； in mentioning
the family。
“I think； perhaps； the best thing would be for me to go
and see them；” she observed。
“I won’t have you going anywhere near them；” Mr。
Hilbery replied with unwonted decision and authority。
“Indeed； I don’t understand why they’ve dragged you into
the business at all—I don’t see that it’s got anything to
do with you。”
“I’ve always been friends with Cyril；” Katharine observed。
“But did he ever tell you anything about this？” Mr。
Hilbery asked rather sharply。
Katharine shook her head。 She was； indeed； a good deal
hurt that Cyril had not confided in her—did he think； as
Ralph Denham or Mary Datchet might think； that she was；
for some reason； unsympathetic—hostile even？
“As to your mother；” said Mr。 Hilbery； after a pause； in
which he seemed to be considering the color of the flames；
“you had better tell her the facts。 She’d better know the
facts before every one begins to talk about it； though
why Aunt Celia thinks it necessary to e； I’m sure I
don’t know。 And the less talk there is the better。”
Granting the assumption that gentlemen of sixty who
are highly cultivated； and have had much experience of
life； probably think of many things which they do not say；
Katharine could not help feeling rather puzzled by her
father’s attitude； as she went back to her room。 What a
distance he was from it all！ How superficially he smoothed
these events into a semblance of decency which harmonized
with his own view of life！ He never wondered what
Cyril had felt； nor did the hidden aspects of the case tempt
him to examine into them。 He merely seemed to realize；
rather languidly； that Cyril had behaved in a way which
was foolish； because other people did not behave in that
way。 He seemed to be looking through a telescope at little
figures hundreds of miles in the distance。
Her selfish anxiety not to have to tell Mrs。 Hilbery what
had happened made her follow her father into the hall
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Virginia Woolf
after breakfast the next morning in order to question
him。
“Have you told mother？” she asked。 Her manner to her
father was almost stern； and she seemed to hold endless
depths of reflection in the dark of her eyes。
Mr。 Hilbery sighed。
“My dear child； it went out of my head。” He smoothed
his silk hat energetically； and at once affected an air of
hurry。 “I’ll send a note round from the office… 。 I’m late
this morning； and I’ve any amount of proofs to get
through。”
“That wouldn’t do at all；” Katharine said decidedly。 “She
must be told—you or I must tell her。 We ought to have
told her at first。”
Mr。 Hilbery had now placed his hat on his head； and his
hand was on the doorknob。 An expression which Katharine
knew well from her childhood； when he asked her to shield
him in some neglect of duty； came into his eyes； malice；
humor； and irresponsibility were blended in it。 He nodded
his head to and fro significantly； opened the door
with an adroit movement； and stepped out with a light
ness unexpected at his age。 He waved his hand once to
his daughter； and was gone。 Left alone； Katharine could
not help laughing to find herself cheated as usual in domestic
bargainings with her father； and left to do the
disagreeable work which