usual？”
As he merely shook his head； and filled his pipe； she
went on：
“It’s a bit of a pose； isn’t it？”
“Not more than most things；” he said。
“Well；” Mary remarked； “I’ve a great deal to say to you；
but I must go on—we have a mittee。” She rose； but
hesitated； looking down upon him rather gravely。 “You
don’t look happy； Ralph；” she said。 “Is it anything； or is
it nothing？”
He did not immediately answer her； but rose； too； and
walked with her towards the gate。 As usual； he did not
speak to her without considering whether what he was
about to say was the sort of thing that he could say to her。
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Night and Day
“I’ve been bothered；” he said at length。 “Partly by work；
and partly by family troubles。 Charles has been behaving
like a fool。 He wants to go out to Canada as a farmer—”
“Well； there’s something to be said for that；” said Mary；
and they passed the gate； and walked slowly round the
Fields again； discussing difficulties which； as a matter of
fact； were more or less chronic in the Denham family； and
only now brought forward to appease Mary’s sympathy；
which； however； soothed Ralph more than he was aware
of。 She made him at least dwell upon problems which
were real in the sense that they were capable of solution；
and the true cause of his melancholy； which was not susceptible
to such treatment； sank rather more deeply into
the shades of his mind。
Mary was attentive； she was helpful。 Ralph could not
help feeling grateful to her； the more so； perhaps； because
he had not told her the truth about his state； and
when they reached the gate again he wished to make
some affectionate objection to her leaving him。 But his
affection took the rather uncouth form of expostulating
with her about her work。
“What d’you want to sit on a mittee for？” he asked。
“It’s waste of your time； Mary。”
“I agree with you that a country walk would benefit the
world more；” she said。 “Look here；” she added suddenly；
“why don’t you e to us at Christmas？ It’s almost the
best time of year。”
“e to you at Disham？” Ralph repeated。
“Yes。 We won’t interfere with you。 But you can tell me
later；” she said； rather hastily； and then started off in the
direction of Russell Square。 She had invited him on the
impulse of the moment； as a vision of the country came
before her； and now she was annoyed with herself for
having done so； and then she was annoyed at being annoyed。
“If I can’t face a walk in a field alone with Ralph；” she
reasoned； “I’d better buy a cat and live in a lodging at
Ealing； like Sally Seal —and he won’t e。 Or did he
mean that he would e？”
She shook her head。 She really did not know what he
had meant。 She never felt quite certain； but now she was
more than usually baffled。 Was he concealing something
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Virginia Woolf
from her？ His manner had been odd； his deep absorption
had impressed her； there was something in him that she
had not fathomed； and the mystery of his nature laid
more of a spell upon her than she liked。 Moreover； she
could not prevent herself from doing now what she had
often blamed others of her sex for doing—from endowing
her friend with a kind of heavenly fire； and passing
her life before it for his sanction。
Under this process； the mittee rather dwindled in
importance； the Suffrage shrank； she vowed she would
work harder at the Italian language； she thought she would
take up the study of birds。 But this program for a perfect
life threatened to bee so absurd that she very soon
caught herself out in the evil habit； and was rehearsing
her speech to the mittee by the time the chestnut
colored bricks of Russell Square came in sight。 Indeed；
she never noticed them。 She ran upstairs as usual； and
was pletely awakened to reality by the sight of Mrs。
Seal； on the landing outside the office； inducing a very
large dog to drink water out of a tumbler。
“Miss Markham has already arrived；” Mrs。 Seal remarked；
with due solemnity； “and this is her dog。”
“A very fine dog； too；” said Mary； patting him on the
head。
“Yes。 A magnificent fellow； Mrs。 Seal agreed。 “A kind of
St。 Bernard； she tells me—so like Kit to have a St。 Bernard。
And you guard your mistress well； don’t you； Sailor？
You see that wicked men don’t break into her larder when
she’s out at HER work—helping poor souls who have lost
their way… 。 But we’re late—we must begin！” and scattering
the rest of the water indiscriminately over the floor；
she hurried Mary into the mitteeroom。
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Night and Day
CHAPTER XIV
Mr。 Clacton was in his glory。 The machinery which he had
perfected and controlled was now about to turn out its
bimonthly product； a mittee meeting； and his pride
in the perfect structure of these assemblies was great。
He loved the jargon of mitteerooms； he loved the
way in which the door kept opening as the clock struck
the hour； in obedience to a few strokes of his pen on a
piece of paper； and when it had opened sufficiently often；
he loved to issue from his inner chamber with documents
in his hands； visibly important； with a preoccupied
expression on his face that might have suited a Prime
Minister advancing to meet his Cabi。 By his orders the
table had been decorated beforehand with six sheets of
blottingpaper； with six pens； six inkpots； a tumbler and
a jug of water； a bell； and； in deference to the taste of
the lady members； a vase of hardy chrysanthemums。 He
had already surreptitiously straightened the sheets of
blottingpaper in relation to the inkpots； and now stood
in front of the fire engaged in conversation with Miss
Markham。 But his eye was on the door； and when Mary
and Mrs。 Seal entered； he gave a little laugh and observed
to the assembly which was scattered about the
room：
“I fancy； ladies and gentlemen； that we are ready to
mence。”
So speaking； he took his seat at the head of the table；
and arranging one bundle of papers upon his right and
another upon his left； called upon Miss Datchet to read
the minutes of the previous meeting。 Mary obeyed。 A keen
observer might have wondered why it was necessary for
the secretary to knit her brows so closely over the tolerably
matteroffact statement before her。 Could there be
any doubt in her mind that it had been resolved to circularize
the provinces with Leaflet No。 3； or to issue a statistical
diagram showing the proportion of married women
to spinsters in New Zealand； or that the profits of
Mrs。 Hipsley’s Bazaar had reached a total of five pounds
eight shillings and twopence halfpenny？
Could any doubt as to the perfect sense and propriety
of these statements be disturbing her？ No one could have
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Virginia Woolf
guessed； from the look of her； that she was disturbed at
all。 A pleasanter and saner woman than Mary Datchet
was never seen within a mitteeroom。 She seemed a
pound of the autumn leaves and the winter sunshine；
less poetically speaking； she showed both gentleness and
strength； an i