invisible ghost among the living； better acquainted with
them than with her own friends； because she knew their
secrets and possessed a divine foreknowledge of their
destiny。 They had been so unhappy； such muddlers； so
wrongheaded； it seemed to her。 She could have told them
what to do； and what not to do。 It was a melancholy fact
that they would pay no heed to her； and were bound to
e to grief in their own antiquated way。 Their behavior
was often grotesquely irrational； their conventions
monstrously absurd； and yet； as she brooded upon them；
she felt so closely attached to them that it was useless
to try to pass judgment upon them。 She very nearly lost
consciousness that she was a separate being； with a future
of her own。 On a morning of slight depression； such
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as this； she would try to find some sort of clue to the
muddle which their old letters presented； some reason
which seemed to make it worth while to them； some aim
which they kept steadily in view—but she was interrupted。
Mrs。 Hilbery had risen from her table； and was standing
looking out of the window at a string of barges swimming
up the river。
Katharine watched her。 Suddenly Mrs。 Hilbery turned
abruptly； and exclaimed：
“I really believe I’m bewitched！ I only want three sentences；
you see； something quite straightforward and
monplace； and I can’t find ‘em。”
She began to pace up and down the room； snatching up
her duster； but she was too much annoyed to find any
relief； as yet； in polishing the backs of books。
“Besides；” she said； giving the sheet she had written to
Katharine； “I don’t believe this’ll do。 Did your grandfather
ever visit the Hebrides； Katharine？” She looked in a
strangely beseeching way at her daughter。 “My mind got
running on the Hebrides； and I couldn’t help writing a
little description of them。 Perhaps it would do at the
beginning of a chapter。 Chapters often begin quite differently
from the way they go on； you know。” Katharine
read what her mother had written。 She might have been
a schoolmaster criticizing a child’s essay。 Her face gave
Mrs。 Hilbery； who watched it anxiously； no ground for
hope。
“It’s very beautiful；” she stated； “but； you see； mother；
we ought to go from point to point—”
“Oh； I know；” Mrs。 Hilbery exclaimed。 “And that’s just
what I can’t do。 Things keep ing into my head。 It
isn’t that I don’t know everything and feel everything
（who did know him； if I didn’t？）； but I can’t put it down；
you see。 There’s a kind of blind spot；” she said； touching
her forehead； “there。 And when I can’t sleep o’ nights； I
fancy I shall die without having done it。”
From exultation she had passed to the depths of depression
which the imagination of her death aroused。 The
depression municated itself to Katharine。 How impotent
they were； fiddling about all day long with papers！
And the clock was striking eleven and nothing done！ She
watched her mother； now rummaging in a great brass
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bound box which stood by her table； but she did not go
to her help。 Of course； Katharine reflected； her mother
had now lost some paper； and they would waste the rest
of the morning looking for it。 She cast her eyes down in
irritation； and read again her mother’s musical sentences
about the silver gulls； and the roots of little pink flowers
washed by pellucid streams； and the blue mists of hyacinths；
until she was struck by her mother’s silence。 She
raised her eyes。 Mrs。 Hilbery had emptied a portfolio containing
old photographs over her table； and was looking
from one to another。
“Surely； Katharine；” she said； “the men were far handsomer
in those days than they are now； in spite of their
odious whiskers？ Look at old John Graham； in his white
waistcoat—look at Uncle Harley。 That’s Peter the manservant；
I suppose。 Uncle John brought him back from India。”
Katharine looked at her mother； but did not stir or answer。
She had suddenly bee very angry； with a rage
which their relationship made silent； and therefore doubly
powerful and critical。 She felt all the unfairness of
the claim which her mother tacitly made to her time and
sympathy； and what Mrs。 Hilbery took； Katharine thought
bitterly； she wasted。 Then； in a flash； she remembered
that she had still to tell her about Cyril’s misbehavior。
Her anger immediately dissipated itself； it broke like some
wave that has gathered itself high above the rest； the
waters were resumed into the sea again； and Katharine
felt once more full of peace and solicitude； and anxious
only that her mother should be protected from pain。 She
crossed the room instinctively； and sat on the arm of her
mother’s chair。 Mrs。 Hilbery leant her head against her
daughter’s body。
“What is nobler；” she mused； turning over the photographs；
“than to be a woman to whom every one turns； in
sorrow or difficulty？ How have the young women of your
generation improved upon that； Katharine？ I can see them
now； sweeping over the lawns at Melbury House； in their
flounces and furbelows； so calm and stately and imperial
（and the monkey and the little black dwarf following behind）；
as if nothing mattered in the world but to be beautiful
and kind。 But they did more than we do； I sometimes
think。 They were； and that’s better than doing。 They seem
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Night and Day
to me like ships； like majestic ships； holding on their
way； not shoving or pushing； not fretted by little things；
as we are； but taking their way； like ships with white
sails。”
Katharine tried to interrupt this discourse； but the opportunity
did not e； and she could not forbear to turn
over the pages of the album in which the old photographs
were stored。 The faces of these men and women
shone forth wonderfully after the hubbub of living faces；
and seemed； as her mother had said； to wear a marvelous
dignity and calm； as if they had ruled their kingdoms
justly and deserved great love。 Some were of almost incredible
beauty； others were ugly enough in a forcible
way； but none were dull or bored or insignificant。 The
superb stiff folds of the crinolines suited the women； the
cloaks and hats of the gentlemen seemed full of character。
Once more Katharine felt the serene air all round her；
and seemed far off to hear the solemn beating of the sea
upon the shore。 But she knew that she must join the
present on to this past。
Mrs。 Hilbery was rambling on； from story to story。
“That’s Janie Mannering；” she said； pointing to a superb；
whitehaired dame； whose satin robes seemed strung
with pearls。 “I must have told you how she found her
cook drunk under the kitchen table when the Empress
was ing to dinner； and tucked up her velvet sleeves
（she always dressed like an Empress herself）； cooked the
whole meal； and appeared in the drawingroom as if she’d
been sleeping on a bank of roses all day。 She could do
anything with her hands—they all could—make a cottage
or embroider a petticoat。
“And that’s Queenie Colquhoun；” she went on； turning
the pages； “who took her coffin out with her to Jamaica；
packed with lovely shawls and bons； because you
couldn’t get coffins in Jamaica； and she had a horror of
dying there （as she did）； and being devoured by the white
ants。 And there’s Sabine； the loveliest of them all； ah！ it
was like a star rising when she came into the room。 And
that’s Miriam； in her coachman’s cloak； with all the little
capes on； and she wore great topboots underneath。 You
young people may say you’re unconventional； but you’re
nothing pared with her。”
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Turning the page； she came upon the picture of a very
masculine； handsome lady； whose head the photographer
had adorned with an imperial crown。
“Ah； you wretch！” Mrs。 Hilbery exclaimed； “what a wicked
old despot you were； in your day！ How we all bowed down
before you！ ‘Maggie；’ she used to say； ‘if it hadn’t been for
me； where would you be now？’ And it was true； she brought
them together； you know。 She said to my father； ‘Marry
her；’ and he did； and she said to poor little Clara； ‘Fall
down and worship him；’ and she did； but she got up again；
of course。 What else could one expect？ She was a mere
child—eighteen—and half dead with fright； too。 But that
old tyrant never repented。 She used to say that she had
given them three perfect months； and no one had a right
to more； and I sometimes think； Katharine； that’s true；
you know。 It’s more than most of us have； only we have
to pretend； which was a thing neither of them could ever
do。 I fancy；” Mrs。 Hilbery mused； “that there was a kind
of sincerity in those days between men and women which；
with all your outspokenness； you haven’t got。”
Katharine again tried to interrupt。 But Mrs。 Hilbery had
been gathering impetus from her recollections； and was
now in high spirits。
“They must have been good friends at heart；” she resumed；
“because she used to sing his songs。 Ah； how did
it go？” and Mrs。