the floor meditatively with the toe of his boot； he was
roused by a musical and familiar voice behind him； acpanied
by a light touch upon his shoulder。
“I’m not mistaken？ Surely Mr。 Denham？ I caught a
glimpse of your coat through the window； and I felt sure
that I knew your coat。 Have you seen Katharine or Will
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Night and Day
iam？ I’m wandering about Lincoln looking for the ruins。”
It was Mrs。 Hilbery； her entrance created some stir in
the shop； many people looked at her。
“First of all； tell me where I am；” she demanded； but；
catching sight of the attentive shopman； she appealed
to him。 “The ruins—my party is waiting for me at the
ruins。 The Roman ruins—or Greek； Mr。 Denham？ Your town
has a great many beautiful things in it； but I wish it
hadn’t so many ruins。 I never saw such delightful little
pots of honey in my life—are they made by your own
bees？ Please give me one of those little pots； and tell me
how I shall find my way to the ruins。”
“And now；” she continued； having received the information
and the pot of honey； having been introduced to
Mary； and having insisted that they should acpany
her back to the ruins； since in a town with so many turnings；
such prospects； such delightful little halfnaked boys
dabbling in pools； such Veian canals； such old blue
china in the curiosity shops； it was impossible for one
person all alone to find her way to the ruins。 “Now；” she
exclaimed； “please tell me what you’re doing here； Mr。
Denham—for you ARE Mr。 Denham； aren’t you？” she inquired；
gazing at him with a sudden suspicion of her own
accuracy。 “The brilliant young man who writes for the
Review； I mean？ Only yesterday my husband was telling
me he thought you one of the cleverest young men he
knew。 Certainly； you’ve been the messenger of Providence
to me； for unless I’d seen you I’m sure I should never
have found the ruins at all。”
They had reached the Roman arch when Mrs。 Hilbery
caught sight of her own party； standing like sentinels
facing up and down the road so as to intercept her if； as
they expected； she had got lodged in some shop。
“I’ve found something much better than ruins！” she
exclaimed。 “I’ve found two friends who told me how to
find you； which I could never have done without them。
They must e and have tea with us。 What a pity that
we’ve just had luncheon。” Could they not somehow revoke
that meal？
Katharine； who had gone a few steps by herself down
the road； and was investigating the window of an
ironmonger； as if her mother might have got herself con
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Virginia Woolf
cealed among mowingmachines and gardenshears；
turned sharply on hearing her voice； and came towards
them。 She was a great deal surprised to see Denham and
Mary Datchet。 Whether the cordiality with which she
greeted them was merely that which is natural to a surprise
meeting in the country； or whether she was really
glad to see them both； at any rate she exclaimed with
unusual pleasure as she shook hands：
“I never knew you lived here。 Why didn’t you say so；
and we could have met？ And are you staying with Mary？”
she continued； turning to Ralph。 “What a pity we didn’t
meet before。”
Thus confronted at a distance of only a few feet by the
real body of the woman about whom he had dreamt so
many million dreams； Ralph stammered； he made a clutch
at his selfcontrol； the color either came to his cheeks or
left them； he knew not which； but he was determined to
face her and track down in the cold light of day whatever
vestige of truth there might be in his persistent imaginations。
He did not succeed in saying anything。 It was Mary
who spoke for both of them。 He was struck dumb by find
ing that Katharine was quite different； in some strange
way； from his memory； so that he had to dismiss his old
view in order to accept the new one。 The wind was blowing
her crimson scarf across her face； the wind had already
loosened her hair； which looped across the corner
of one of the large； dark eyes which； so he used to think；
looked sad； now they looked bright with the brightness
of the sea struck by an unclouded ray； everything about
her seemed rapid； fragmentary； and full of a kind of racing
speed。 He realized suddenly that he had never seen
her in the daylight before。
Meanwhile； it was decided that it was too late to go in
search of ruins as they had intended； and the whole party
began to walk towards the stables where the carriage
had been put up。
“Do you know；” said Katharine； keeping slightly in advance
of the rest with Ralph； “I thought I saw you this
morning； standing at a window。 But I decided that it
couldn’t be you。 And it must have been you all the same。”
“Yes； I thought I saw you—but it wasn’t you；” he replied。
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Night and Day
This remark； and the rough strain in his voice； recalled
to her memory so many difficult speeches and abortive
meetings that she was jerked directly back to the London
drawingroom； the family relics； and the teatable； and
at the same time recalled some halffinished or interrupted
remark which she had wanted to make herself or
to hear from him—she could not remember what it was。
“I expect it was me；” she said。 “I was looking for my
mother。 It happens every time we e to Lincoln。 In
fact； there never was a family so unable to take care of
itself as ours is。 Not that it very much matters； because
some one always turns up in the nick of time to help us
out of our scrapes。 Once I was left in a field with a bull
when I was a baby—but where did we leave the carriage？
Down that street or the next？ The next； I think。” She
glanced back and saw that the others were following obediently；
listening to certain memories of Lincoln upon
which Mrs。 Hilbery had started。 “But what are you doing
here？” she asked。
“I’m buying a cottage。 I’m going to live here—as soon
as I can find a cottage； and Mary tells me there’ll be no
difficulty about that。”
“But；” she exclaimed； almost standing still in her surprise；
“you will give up the Bar； then？” It flashed across
her mind that he must already be engaged to Mary。
“The solicitor’s office？ Yes。 I’m giving that up。”
“But why？” she asked。 She answered herself at once；
with a curious change from rapid speech to an almost
melancholy tone。 “I think you’re very wise to give it up。
You will be much happier。”
At this very moment； when her words seemed to be
striking a path into the future for him； they stepped into
the yard of an inn； and there beheld the family coach of
the Otways； to which one sleek horse was already attached；
while the second was being led out of the stable
door by the hostler。
“I don’t know what one means by happiness；” he said
briefly； having to step aside in order to avoid a groom with
a bucket。 “Why do you think I shall be happy？ I don’t
expect to be anything of the kind。 I expect to be rather
less unhappy。 I shall write a book and curse my charwoman
—if happiness consists in that。 What do you think？”
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She could not answer because they were immediately
surrounded by other members of the party—by Mrs。
Hilbery； and Mary； Henry Otway； and William。
Rodney went up to Katharine immediately and said to
her：
“Henry is going to drive home with your mother； and I
suggest that they should put us down halfway and let us
walk back。”
Katharine nodded her head。 She glanced at him with an
oddly furtive expression。
“Unfortunately we go in opposite directions； or we might
have given you a lift；” he continued to Denham。 His manner
was unusually peremptory； he seemed anxious to hasten
the departure； and Katharine looked at him from time
to time； as Denham noticed； with an expression half of
inquiry； half of annoyance。 She at once helped her mother
into her cloak； and said to Mary：
“I want to see you。 Are you going back to London at
once？ I will write。” She half smiled at Ralph； but her look
was a little overcast by something she was thinking； and
in a very few minutes the Otway carriage rolled out of the
stable yard and turned down the high road leading to the
village of Lampsher。
The return drive was almost as silent as the drive from
home had been in the morning； indeed； Mrs。 Hilbery leant
back with closed eyes in her corner； and either slept or
feigned sleep； as her habit was in the intervals between
the seasons of active exertion； or continued the story
which she had begun to tell herself that morning。
About two miles from Lampsher the road ran over the
rounded summit of the heath； a lonely spot marked by an
obelisk of granite； setting forth the gratitude of some
great lady of the eighteenth century who had been set
upon by highwaymen at this spot and delivered from death
just as hope seemed lost。 In summer it was a pleasant
place； for the deep woods on either side murmured； and
the heather； which grew thick round the granite pedestal；
made the light breeze taste sweetly； i