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and all the others that puzzled her。 Meanwhile； she
thought； drawing her feet up on to the fender； life was
full of plexity； life was a thing one must love to the
last fiber of it。
She had sat there for five minutes or so； and her thoughts
had had time to grow dim； when there came a ring at her
bell。 Her eye brightened； she felt immediately convinced
that Ralph had e to visit her。 Accordingly； she waited
a moment before opening the door； she wanted to feel
her hands secure upon the reins of all the troublesome
emotions which the sight of Ralph would certainly arouse。
She posed herself unnecessarily； however； for she had
to admit； not Ralph； but Katharine and William Rodney。
Her first impression was that they were both extremely
well dressed。 She felt herself shabby and slovenly beside
them； and did not know how she should entertain them；
nor could she guess why they had e。 She had heard
nothing of their engagement。 But after the first disappointment；
she was pleased； for she felt instantly that
Katharine was a personality； and； moreover； she need not
now exercise her selfcontrol。
“We were passing and saw a light in your window； so we
came up；” Katharine explained； standing and looking very
tall and distinguished and rather absentminded。
“We have been to see some pictures；” said William。 “Oh；
dear；” he exclaimed； looking about him； “this room reminds
me of one of the worst hours in my existence—
when I read a paper； and you all sat round and jeered at
me。 Katharine was the worst。 I could feel her gloating over
every mistake I made。 Miss Datchet was kind。 Miss Datchet
just made it possible for me to get through； I remember。”
146
Virginia Woolf
Sitting down； he drew off his light yellow gloves； and
began slapping his knees with them。 His vitality was pleasant；
Mary thought； although he made her laugh。 The very
look of him was inclined to make her laugh。 His rather
prominent eyes passed from one young woman to the
other； and his lips perpetually formed words which remained
unspoken。
“We have been seeing old masters at the Grafton Gallery；”
said Katharine； apparently paying no attention to
William； and accepting a cigarette which Mary offered
her。 She leant back in her chair； and the smoke which
hung about her face seemed to withdraw her still further
from the others。
“Would you believe it； Miss Datchet；” William continued；
“Katharine doesn’t like Titian。 She doesn’t like apricots；
she doesn’t like peaches； she doesn’t like green peas。
She likes the Elgin marbles； and gray days without any
sun。 She’s a typical example of the cold northern nature。
I e from Devonshire—”
Had they been quarreling； Mary wondered； and had they；
for that reason； sought refuge in her room； or were they
engaged； or had Katharine just refused him？ She was
pletely baffled。
Katharine now reappeared from her veil of smoke；
knocked the ash from her cigarette into the fireplace；
and looked； with an odd expression of solicitude； at the
irritable man。
“Perhaps； Mary；” she said tentatively； “you wouldn’t mind
giving us some tea？ We did try to get some； but the shop
was so crowded； and in the next one there was a band
playing； and most of the pictures； at any rate； were very
dull； whatever you may say； William。” She spoke with a
kind of guarded gentleness。
Mary； accordingly； retired to make preparations in the
pantry。
“What in the world are they after？” she asked of her
own reflection in the little lookingglass which hung there。
She was not left to doubt much longer； for； on ing
back into the sittingroom with the teathings； Katharine
informed her； apparently having been instructed so to do
by William； of their engagement。
“William；” she said； “thinks that perhaps you don’t know。
147
Night and Day
We are going to be married。”
Mary found herself shaking William’s hand； and addressing
her congratulations to him； as if Katharine were inaccessible；
she had； indeed； taken hold of the teakettle。
“Let me see；” Katharine said； “one puts hot water into
the cups first； doesn’t one？ You have some dodge of your
own； haven’t you； William； about making tea？”
Mary was half inclined to suspect that this was said in
order to conceal nervousness； but if so； the concealment
was unusually perfect。 Talk of marriage was dismissed。
Katharine might have been seated in her own drawing
room； controlling a situation which presented no sort of
difficulty to her trained mind。 Rather to her surprise； Mary
found herself making conversation with William about
old Italian pictures； while Katharine poured out tea； cut
cake； kept William’s plate supplied； without joining more
than was necessary in the conversation。 She seemed to
have taken possession of Mary’s room； and to handle the
cups as if they belonged to her。 But it was done so naturally
that it bred no resentment in Mary； on the contrary；
she found herself putting her hand on Katharine’s knee；
affectionately； for an instant。 Was there something maternal
in this assumption of control？ And thinking of
Katharine as one who would soon be married； these maternal
airs filled Mary’s mind with a new tenderness； and
even with awe。 Katharine seemed very much older and
more experienced than she was。
Meanwhile Rodney talked。 If his appearance was superficially
against him； it had the advantage of making his
solid merits something of a surprise。 He had kept notebooks；
he knew a great deal about pictures。 He could pare
different examples in different galleries； and his authoritative
answers to intelligent questions gained not a
little； Mary felt； from the smart taps which he dealt； as he
delivered them； upon the lumps of coal。 She was impressed。
“Your tea； William；” said Katharine gently。
He paused； gulped it down； obediently； and continued。
And then it struck Mary that Katharine； in the shade of
her broadbrimmed hat； and in the midst of the smoke；
and in the obscurity of her character； was； perhaps； smiling
to herself； not altogether in the maternal spirit。 What
she said was very simple； but her words； even “Your tea；
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Virginia Woolf
William；” were set down as gently and cautiously and
exactly as the feet of a Persian cat stepping among China
ornaments。 For the second time that day Mary felt herself
baffled by something inscrutable in the character of a
person to whom she felt herself much attracted。 She
thought that if she were engaged to Katharine； she； too；
would find herself very soon using those fretful questions
with which William evidently teased his bride。 And
yet Katharine’s voice was humble。
“I wonder how you find the time to know all about
pictures as well as books？” she asked。
“How do I find the time？” William answered； delighted；
Mary guessed； at this little pliment。 “Why； I always
travel with a notebook。 And I ask my way to the picture
gallery the very first thing in the morning。 And then I
meet men； and talk to them。 There’s a man in my office
who knows all about the Flemish school。 I was telling
Miss Datchet about the Flemish school。 I picked up a lot
of it from him—it’s a way men have—Gibbons； his name
is。 You must meet him。 We’ll ask him to lunch。 And this
not caring about art；” he explained； turning to Mary； “it’s
one of Katharine’s poses； Miss Datchet。 Did you know she
posed？ She pretends that she’s never read Shakespeare。
And why should she read Shakespeare； since she IS
Shakespeare—Rosalind； you know；” and he gave his queer
little chuckle。 Somehow this pliment appeared very
oldfashioned and almost in bad taste。 Mary actually felt
herself blush； as if he had said “the sex” or “the ladies。”
Constrained； perhaps； by nervousness； Rodney continued
in the same vein。
“She knows enough—enough for all decent purposes。
What do you women want with learning； when you have
so much else—everything； I should say—everything。
Leave us something； eh； Katharine？”
“Leave you something？” said Kathar