按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
want to marry you。 Well； what do you say？” He spoke
firmly； waited for no answer； and took her arm in his。
“You know me by this time； the good and the bad；” he
went on。 “You know my tempers。 I’ve tried to let you
know my faults。 Well； what do you say； Mary？”
213
Night and Day
She said nothing； but this did not seem to strike him。
“In most ways； at least in the important ways； as you
said； we know each other and we think alike。 I believe
you are the only person in the world I could live with
happily。 And if you feel the same about me—as you do；
don’t you； Mary？—we should make each other happy。”
Here he paused； and seemed to be in no hurry for an
answer； he seemed； indeed； to be continuing his own
thoughts。
“Yes； but I’m afraid I couldn’t do it；” Mary said at last。
The casual and rather hurried way in which she spoke；
together with the fact that she was saying the exact opposite
of what he expected her to say； baffled him so
much that he instinctively loosened his clasp upon her
arm and she withdrew it quietly。
“You couldn’t do it？” he asked。
“No； I couldn’t marry you；” she replied。
“You don’t care for me？”
She made no answer。
“Well； Mary；” he said； with a curious laugh； “I must be
an arrant fool； for I thought you did。” They walked for a
minute or two in silence； and suddenly he turned to her；
looked at her； and exclaimed： “I don’t believe you； Mary。
You’re not telling me the truth。”
“I’m too tired to argue； Ralph；” she replied； turning her
head away from him。 “I ask you to believe what I say。 I
can’t marry you； I don’t want to marry you。”
The voice in which she stated this was so evidently the
voice of one in some extremity of anguish that Ralph had
no course but to obey her。 And as soon as the tone of her
voice had died out； and the surprise faded from his mind；
he found himself believing that she had spoken the truth；
for he had but little vanity； and soon her refusal seemed
a natural thing to him。 He slipped through all the grades
of despondency until he reached a bottom of absolute
gloom。 Failure seemed to mark the whole of his life； he
had failed with Katharine； and now he had failed with
Mary。 Up at once sprang the thought of Katharine； and
with it a sense of exulting freedom； but this he checked
instantly。 No good had ever e to him from Katharine；
his whole relationship with her had been made up of
dreams； and as he thought of the little substance there
214
Virginia Woolf
had been in his dreams he began to lay the blame of the
present catastrophe upon his dreams。
“Haven’t I always been thinking of Katharine while I
was with Mary？ I might have loved Mary if it hadn’t been
for that idiocy of mine。 She cared for me once； I’m certain
of that； but I tormented her so with my humors that
I let my chances slip； and now she won’t risk marrying
me。 And this is what I’ve made of my life—nothing； nothing；
nothing。”
The tramp of their boots upon the dry road seemed to
asseverate nothing； nothing； nothing。 Mary thought that
this silence was the silence of relief； his depression she
ascribed to the fact that he had seen Katharine and parted
from her； leaving her in the pany of William Rodney。
She could not blame him for loving Katharine； but that；
when he loved another； he should ask her to marry him—
that seemed to her the cruellest treachery。 Their old friendship
and its firm base upon indestructible qualities of
character crumbled； and her whole past seemed foolish；
herself weak and credulous； and Ralph merely the shell of
an honest man。 Oh； the past—so much made up of Ralph；
and now； as she saw； made up of something strange and
false and other than she had thought it。 She tried to
recapture a saying she had made to help herself that
morning； as Ralph paid the bill for luncheon； but she
could see him paying the bill more vividly than she could
remember the phrase。 Something about truth was in it；
how to see the truth is our great chance in this world。
“If you don’t want to marry me；” Ralph now began again；
without abruptness； with diffidence rather； “there is no
need why we should cease to see each other； is there？ Or
would you rather that we should keep apart for the
present？”
“Keep apart？ I don’t know—I must think about it。”
“Tell me one thing； Mary；” he resumed； “have I done
anything to make you change your mind about me？”
She was immensely tempted to give way to her natural
trust in him； revived by the deep and now melancholy
tones of his voice； and to tell him of her love； and of
what had changed it。 But although it seemed likely that
she would soon control her anger with him； the certainty
that he did not love her； confirmed by every word of his
215
Night and Day
proposal； forbade any freedom of speech。 To hear him
speak and to feel herself unable to reply； or constrained
in her replies； was so painful that she longed for the time
when she should be alone。 A more pliant woman would
have taken this chance of an explanation； whatever risks
attached to it； but to one of Mary’s firm and resolute
temperament there was degradation in the idea of self
abandonment； let the waves of emotion rise ever so high；
she could not shut her eyes to what she conceived to be
the truth。 Her silence puzzled Ralph。 He searched his
memory for words or deeds that might have made her
think badly of him。 In his present mood instances came
but too quickly； and on top of them this culminating
proof of his baseness—that he had asked her to marry
him when his reasons for such a proposal were selfish
and halfhearted。
“You needn’t answer；” he said grimly。 “There are reasons
enough； I know。 But must they kill our friendship；
Mary？ Let me keep that； at least。”
“Oh；” she thought to herself； with a sudden rush of
anguish which threatened disaster to her selfrespect；
“it has e to this—to this—when I could have given
him everything！”
“Yes； we can still be friends；” she said； with what firmness
she could muster。
“I shall want your friendship；” he said。 He added； “If
you find it possible； let me see you as often as you can。
The oftener the better。 I shall want your help。”
She promised this； and they went on to talk calmly of
things that had no reference to their feelings—a talk which；
in its constraint； was infinitely sad to both of them。
One more reference was made to the state of things
between them late that night； when Elizabeth had gone
to her room； and the two young men had stumbled off to
bed in such a state of sleep that they hardly felt the floor
beneath their feet after a day’s shooting。
Mary drew her chair a little nearer to the fire； for the
logs were burning low； and at this time of night it was
hardly worth while to replenish them。 Ralph was reading；
but she had noticed for some time that his eyes instead
of following the print were fixed rather above the page
with an intensity of gloom that came to weigh upon her
216
Virginia Woolf
mind。 She had not weakened in her resolve not to give
way； for reflection had only made her more bitterly certain
that； if she gave way； it would be to her own wish
and not to his。 But she had determined that there was no
reason why he should suffer if her reticence were the
cause of his suffering。 Therefore； although she found it
painful； she spoke：
“You asked me if I had changed my mind about you；
Ralph；” she said。 “I think there’s only one thing。 When
you asked me to marry you； I don’t think you meant it。
That made me angry—for the moment。 Before； you’d always
spoken the truth。”
Ralph’s book slid down upon his knee and fell upon the
floor。 He rested his forehead on his hand and looked into
the fire。 He was trying to recall the exact words in which
he had made his proposal to Mary。
“I never said I loved you；” he said at last。
She winced； but she respected him for saying what he
did； for this； after all； was a fragment of the truth