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said Mrs。 Hilbery； looking with pride at her daughter。
“Still； I don’t know that I like your being out so late；
Katharine；” she continued。 “You took a cab； I hope？”
Here dinner was announced； and Mr。 Hilbery formally
led his wife downstairs on his arm。 They were all dressed
for dinner； and； indeed； the prettiness of the dinnertable
merited that pliment。 There was no cloth upon the
table； and the china made regular circles of deep blue
upon the shining brown wood。 In the middle there was a
bowl of tawny red and yellow chrysanthemums； and one
of pure white； so fresh that the narrow petals were curved
backwards into a firm white ball。 From the surrounding
walls the heads of three famous Victorian writers surveyed
this entertainment； and slips of paper pasted beneath
them testified in the great man’s own handwriting
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Night and Day
that he was yours sincerely or affectionately or for ever。
The father and daughter would have been quite content；
apparently； to eat their dinner in silence； or with a few
cryptic remarks expressed in a shorthand which could not
be understood by the servants。 But silence depressed Mrs。
Hilbery； and far from minding the presence of maids； she
would often address herself to them； and was never altogether
unconscious of their approval or disapproval of
her remarks。 In the first place she called them to witness
that the room was darker than usual； and had all the
lights turned on。
“That’s more cheerful；” she exclaimed。 “D’you know；
Katharine； that ridiculous goose came to tea with me？
Oh； how I wanted you！ He tried to make epigrams all the
time； and I got so nervous； expecting them； you know；
that I spilt the tea—and he made an epigram about that！”
“Which ridiculous goose？” Katharine asked her father。
“Only one of my geese； happily； makes epigrams—
Augustus Pelham； of course；” said Mrs。 Hilbery。
“I’m not sorry that I was out；” said Katharine。
“Poor Augustus！” Mrs。 Hilbery exclaimed。 “But we’re all
too hard on him。 Remember how devoted he is to his
tiresome old mother。”
“That’s only because she is his mother。 Any one connected
with himself—”
“No； no； Katharine—that’s too bad。 That’s—what’s the
word I mean； Trevor； something long and Latin—the sort
of word you and Katharine know—”
Mr。 Hilbery suggested “cynical。”
“Well； that’ll do。 I don’t believe in sending girls to college；
but I should teach them that sort of thing。 It makes
one feel so dignified； bringing out these little allusions；
and passing on gracefully to the next topic。 But I don’t
know what’s e over me—I actually had to ask Augustus
the name of the lady Hamlet was in love with； as you
were out； Katharine； and Heaven knows what he mayn’t
put down about me in his diary。”
“I wish；” Katharine started； with great impetuosity； and
checked herself。 Her mother always stirred her to feel
and think quickly； and then she remembered that her father
was there； listening with attention。
“What is it you wish？” he asked； as she paused。
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Virginia Woolf
He often surprised her； thus； into telling him what she
had not meant to tell him； and then they argued； while
Mrs。 Hilbery went on with her own thoughts。
“I wish mother wasn’t famous。 I was out at tea； and
they would talk to me about poetry。”
“Thinking you must be poetical； I see—and aren’t you？”
“Who’s been talking to you about poetry； Katharine？”
Mrs。 Hilbery demanded； and Katharine was mitted to
giving her parents an account of her visit to the Suffrage
office。
“They have an office at the top of one of the old houses
in Russell Square。 I never saw such queerlooking people。
And the man discovered I was related to the poet； and
talked to me about poetry。 Even Mary Datchet seems different
in that atmosphere。”
“Yes； the office atmosphere is very bad for the soul；”
said Mr。 Hilbery。
“I don’t remember any offices in Russell Square in the
old days； when Mamma lived there；” Mrs。 Hilbery mused；
“and I can’t fancy turning one of those noble great rooms
into a stuffy little Suffrage office。 Still； if the clerks read
poetry there must be something nice about them。”
“No； because they don’t read it as we read it；” Katharine
insisted。
“But it’s nice to think of them reading your grandfather；
and not filling up those dreadful little forms all day
long；” Mrs。 Hilbery persisted； her notion of office life
being derived from some chance view of a scene behind
the counter at her bank； as she slipped the sovereigns
into her purse。
“At any rate； they haven’t made a convert of Katharine；
which was what I was afraid of；” Mr。 Hilbery remarked。
“Oh no；” said Katharine very decidedly； “I wouldn’t work
with them for anything。”
“It’s curious；” Mr。 Hilbery continued； agreeing with his
daughter； “how the sight of one’s fellowenthusiasts always
chokes one off。 They show up the faults of one’s
cause so much more plainly than one’s antagonists。 One
can be enthusiastic in one’s study； but directly one es
into touch with the people who agree with one； all the
glamor goes。 So I’ve always found；” and he proceeded to
tell them； as he peeled his apple； how he mitted him
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Night and Day
self once； in his youthful days； to make a speech at a
political meeting； and went there ablaze with enthusiasm
for the ideals of his own side； but while his leaders spoke；
he became gradually converted to the other way of thinking；
if thinking it could be called； and had to feign illness
in order to avoid making a fool of himself—an experience
which had sickened him of public meetings。
Katharine listened and felt as she generally did when
her father； and to some extent her mother； described their
feelings； that she quite understood and agreed with them；
but； at the same time； saw something which they did not
see； and always felt some disappointment when they fell
short of her vision； as they always did。 The plates succeeded
each other swiftly and noiselessly in front of her；
and the table was decked for dessert； and as the talk
murmured on in familiar grooves； she sat there； rather
like a judge； listening to her parents； who did； indeed；
feel it very pleasant when they made her laugh。
Daily life in a house where there are young and old is
full of curious little ceremonies and pieties； which are
discharged quite punctually； though the meaning of them
is obscure； and a mystery has e to brood over them
which lends even a superstitious charm to their performance。
Such was the nightly ceremony of the cigar and
the glass of port； which were placed on the right hand
and on the left hand of Mr。 Hilbery； and simultaneously
Mrs。 Hilbery and Katharine left the room。 All the years
they had lived together they had never seen Mr。 Hilbery
smoke his cigar or drink his port； and they would have
felt it unseemly if； by chance； they had surprised him as
he sat there。 These short； but clearly marked； periods of
separation between the sexes were always used for an
intimate postscript to what had been said at dinner； the
sense of being women together ing out most strongly
when the male sex was； as if by some religious rite； secluded
from the female。 Katharine knew by heart the sort
of mood that possessed her as she walked upstairs to the
drawingroom； her mother’s arm in hers； and she could
anticipate the pleasure with which； when she had turned
on the lights； they both regarded the drawingroom； fresh
swept and set in order for the last section of the day；
with the red parrots swinging on the chintz curtains； and
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Virginia Woolf
the armchairs warming in the blaze。 Mrs。 Hilbery stood
over the fire； with one foot on the fender； and her skirts
slightly raised。
“Oh； Katharine；” she exclaimed； “how you’ve made me
think of Mamma and the old days in Russell Square！ I can
see the chandeliers； and the green silk of the piano； and
Mamma sitting in her cashmere shawl by the window；
singing till the