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pair of oval； hazel eyes which were rather bright for his
time of life； and relieved the heaviness of his face。 He
played constantly with a little green stone attached to
his watchchain； thus displaying long and very sensitive
fingers； and had a habit of moving his head hither and
thither very quickly without altering the position of his
large and rather corpulent body； so that he seemed to be
providing himself incessantly with food for amusement
and reflection with the least possible expenditure of energy。
One might suppose that he had passed the time of
life when his ambitions were personal； or that he had
gratified them as far as he was likely to do； and now
employed his considerable acuteness rather to observe
and reflect than to attain any result。
Katharine； so Denham decided； while Mr。 Fortescue built
up another rounded structure of words； had a likeness to
each of her parents； but these elements were rather oddly
blended。 She had the quick； impulsive movements of her
mother； the lips parting often to speak； and closing again；
and the dark oval eyes of her father brimming with light
upon a basis of sadness； or； since she was too young to
have acquired a sorrowful point of view； one might say
that the basis was not sadness so much as a spirit given
to contemplation and selfcontrol。 Judging by her hair；
her coloring； and the shape of her features； she was striking；
if not actually beautiful。 Decision and posure
stamped her； a bination of qualities that produced a
very marked character； and one that was not calculated
to put a young man； who scarcely knew her； at his ease。
For the rest； she was tall； her dress was of some quiet
color； with old yellowtinted lace for ornament； to which
the spark of an ancient jewel gave its one red gleam。
Denham noticed that； although silent； she kept sufficient
control of the situation to answer immediately her
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Virginia Woolf
mother appealed to her for help； and yet it was obvious to
him that she attended only with the surface skin of her
mind。 It struck him that her position at the teatable； among
all these elderly people； was not without its difficulties；
and he checked his inclination to find her； or her attitude；
generally antipathetic to him。 The talk had passed over
Manchester； after dealing with it very generously。
“Would it be the Battle of Trafalgar or the Spanish Armada；
Katharine？” her mother demanded。
“Trafalgar； mother。”
“Trafalgar； of course！ How stupid of me！ Another cup of
tea； with a thin slice of lemon in it； and then； dear Mr。
Fortescue； please explain my absurd little puzzle。 One
can’t help believing gentlemen with Roman noses； even
if one meets them in omnibuses。”
Mr。 Hilbery here interposed so far as Denham was concerned；
and talked a great deal of sense about the solicitors’
profession； and the changes which he had seen in
his lifetime。 Indeed； Denham properly fell to his lot； owing
to the fact that an article by Denham upon some
legal matter； published by Mr。 Hilbery in his Review； had
brought them acquainted。 But when a moment later Mrs。
Sutton Bailey was announced； he turned to her； and Mr。
Denham found himself sitting silent； rejecting possible
things to say； beside Katharine； who was silent too。 Being
much about the same age and both under thirty； they
were prohibited from the use of a great many convenient
phrases which launch conversation into smooth waters。
They were further silenced by Katharine’s rather malicious
determination not to help this young man； in whose
upright and resolute bearing she detected something
hostile to her surroundings； by any of the usual feminine
amenities。 They therefore sat silent； Denham controlling
his desire to say something abrupt and explosive； which
should shock her into life。 But Mrs。 Hilbery was immediately
sensitive to any silence in the drawingroom； as of
a dumb note in a sonorous scale； and leaning across the
table she observed； in the curiously tentative detached
manner which always gave her phrases the likeness of
butterflies flaunting from one sunny spot to another；
“D’you know； Mr。 Denham； you remind me so much of
dear Mr。 Ruskin… 。 Is it his tie； Katharine； or his hair； or
7
Night and Day
the way he sits in his chair？ Do tell me； Mr。 Denham； are
you an admirer of Ruskin？ Some one； the other day； said
to me； ‘Oh； no； we don’t read Ruskin； Mrs。 Hilbery。’ What
do you read； I wonder？—for you can’t spend all your time
going up in aeroplanes and burrowing into the bowels of
the earth。”
She looked benevolently at Denham； who said nothing
articulate； and then at Katharine； who smiled but said
nothing either； upon which Mrs。 Hilbery seemed possessed
by a brilliant idea； and exclaimed：
“I’m sure Mr。 Denham would like to see our things；
Katharine。 I’m sure he’s not like that dreadful young man；
Mr。 Ponting； who told me that he considered it our duty
to live exclusively in the present。 After all； what IS the
present？ Half of it’s the past； and the better half； too； I
should say；” she added； turning to Mr。 Fortescue。
Denham rose； half meaning to go； and thinking that he
had seen all that there was to see； but Katharine rose at
the same moment； and saying； “Perhaps you would like
to see the pictures；” led the way across the drawing
room to a smaller room opening out of it。
The smaller room was something like a chapel in a cathedral；
or a grotto in a cave； for the booming sound of
the traffic in the distance suggested the soft surge of waters；
and the oval mirrors； with their silver surface； were
like deep pools trembling beneath starlight。 But the parison
to a religious temple of some kind was the more
apt of the two； for the little room was crowded with relics。
As Katharine touched different spots； lights sprang here
and there； and revealed a square mass of redandgold
books； and then a long skirt in blueandwhite paint lustrous
behind glass； and then a mahogany writingtable；
with its orderly equipment； and； finally； a picture above
the table； to which special illumination was accorded。
When Katharine had touched these last lights； she stood
back； as much as to say； “There！” Denham found himself
looked down upon by the eyes of the great poet； Richard
Alardyce； and suffered a little shock which would have
led him； had he been wearing a hat； to remove it。 The
eyes looked at him out of the mellow pinks and yellows
of the paint with divine friendliness； which embraced him；
and passed on to contemplate the entire world。 The paint
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Virginia Woolf
had so faded that very little but the beautiful large eyes
were left； dark in the surrounding dimness。
Katharine waited as though for him to receive a full
impression； and then she said：
“This is his writingtable。 He used this pen；” and she
lifted a quill pen and laid it down again。 The writing
table was splashed with old ink； and the pen disheveled
in service。 There lay the gigantic goldrimmed spectacles；
ready to his hand； and beneath the table was a pair of
large； worn slippers； one of which Katharine picked up；
remarking：
“I think my grandfather must have been at least twice as
large as any one is nowadays。 This；” she went on； as if she
knew what she had to say by heart； “is the original manuscript
of the ‘Ode to Winter。’ The early poems are far less
corrected than the later。 Would you like to look at it？”
While Mr。 Denham examined the manuscript； she glanced
up at her grandfather； and； for the thousandth time； fell
into a pleasant dreamy state in which she seemed to be
the panion of those giant men； of their own lineage；
at any rate； and the insignificant present moment was
put to shame。 That magnificent ghostly head on the canvas；
surely； never beheld all the trivialities of a Sunday
afternoon； and it did not seem to matter what she and
this young man said to each other； for they were only
small people。
“This is a copy of the first edition of the poems；” she
continued； without considering the fa