almost like children of her own。
“Joan； you don’t really think that ‘amo’ is Greek？” Ralph
asked。
“Did I say Greek？ Well； never mind。 No dead languages at teatime。
My dear boy； don’t trouble to make me any toast—”
“Or if you do； surely there’s the toastingfork somewhere？”
said Mrs。 Denham； still cherishing the belief that the breadknife
could be spoilt。 “Do one of you ring and ask for one；”
she said； without any conviction that she would be obeyed。
“But is Ann ing to be with Uncle Joseph？” she continued。
“If so； surely they had better send Amy to us—” and
in the mysterious delight of learning further details of these
arrangements； and suggesting more sensible plans of her
own； which； from the aggrieved way in which she spoke；
she did not seem to expect any one to adopt； Mrs。 Denham
pletely forgot the presence of a welldressed visitor；
who had to be informed about the amenities of Highgate。
As soon as Joan had taken her seat； an argument had
sprung up on either side of Katharine； as to whether the
Salvation Army has any right to play hymns at street corners
on Sunday mornings； thereby making it impossible for
James to have his sleep out； and tampering with the rights
of individual liberty。
“You see； James likes to lie in bed and sleep like a
hog；” said Johnnie； explaining himself to Katharine；
whereupon James fired up and； making her his goal； also
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Virginia Woolf
exclaimed：
“Because Sundays are my one chance in the week of
having my sleep out。 Johnnie messes with stinking chemicals
in the pantry—”
They appealed to her； and she forgot her cake and began
to laugh and talk and argue with sudden animation。
The large family seemed to her so warm and various that
she forgot to censure them for their taste in pottery。 But
the personal question between James and Johnnie merged
into some argument already； apparently； debated； so that
the parts had been distributed among the family； in which
Ralph took the lead； and Katharine found herself opposed
to him and the champion of Johnnie’s cause； who； it
appeared； always lost his head and got excited in argument
with Ralph。
“Yes； yes； that’s what I mean。 She’s got it right；” he
exclaimed； after Katharine had restated his case； and made
it more precise。 The debate was left almost solely to
Katharine and Ralph。 They looked into each other’s eyes
fixedly； like wrestlers trying to see what movement is
ing next； and while Ralph spoke； Katharine bit her
lower lip； and was always ready with her next point as
soon as he had done。 They were very well matched； and
held the opposite views。
But at the most exciting stage of the argument； for no
reason that Katharine could see； all chairs were pushed
back； and one after another the Denham family got up
and went out of the door； as if a bell had summoned
them。 She was not used to the clockwork regulations of a
large family。 She hesitated in what she was saying； and
rose。 Mrs。 Denham and Joan had drawn together and stood
by the fireplace； slightly raising their skirts above their
ankles； and discussing something which had an air of
being very serious and very private。 They appeared to
have forgotten her presence among them。 Ralph stood
holding the door open for her。
“Won’t you e up to my room？” he said。 And Katharine；
glancing back at Joan； who smiled at her in a preoccupied
way； followed Ralph upstairs。 She was thinking of
their argument； and when； after the long climb； he opened
his door； she began at once。
“The question is； then； at what point is it right for the
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Night and Day
individual to assert his will against the will of the State。”
For some time they continued the argument； and then
the intervals between one statement and the next became
longer and longer； and they spoke more speculatively
and less pugnaciously； and at last fell silent。
Katharine went over the argument in her mind； remembering
how； now and then； it had been set conspicuously
on the right course by some remark offered either by
James or by Johnnie。
“Your brothers are very clever；” she said。 “I suppose
you’re in the habit of arguing？”
“James and Johnnie will go on like that for hours；”
Ralph replied。 “So will Hester； if you start her upon Elizabethan
dramatists。”
“And the little girl with the pigtail？”
“Molly？ She’s only ten。 But they’re always arguing among
themselves。”
He was immensely pleased by Katharine’s praise of his
brothers and sisters。 He would have liked to go on telling
her about them； but he checked himself。
“I see that it must be difficult to leave them；” Katharine
continued。 His deep pride in his family was more evident
to him； at that moment； than ever before； and the idea of
living alone in a cottage was ridiculous。 All that brotherhood
and sisterhood； and a mon childhood in a mon
past mean； all the stability； the unambitious radeship；
and tacit understanding of family life at its
best； came to his mind； and he thought of them as a
pany； of which he was the leader； bound on a difficult；
dreary； but glorious voyage。 And it was Katharine
who had opened his eyes to this； he thought。
A little dry chirp from the corner of the room now roused
her attention。
“My tame rook；” he explained briefly。 “A cat had bitten
one of its legs。” She looked at the rook； and her eyes
went from one object to another。
“You sit here and read？” she said； her eyes resting upon
his books。 He said that he was in the habit of working
there at night。
“The great advantage of Highgate is the view over London。
At night the view from my window is splendid。” He
was extremely anxious that she should appreciate his view；
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and she rose to see what was to be seen。 It was already dark
enough for the turbulent haze to be yellow with the light of
street lamps； and she tried to determine the quarters of the
city beneath her。 The sight of her gazing from his window
gave him a peculiar satisfaction。 When she turned； at length；
he was still sitting motionless in his chair。
“It must be late；” she said。 “I must be going。” She
settled upon the arm of the chair irresolutely； thinking
that she had no wish to go home。 William would be there；
and he would find some way of making things unpleasant
for her； and the memory of their quarrel came back to her。
She had noticed Ralph’s coldness； too。 She looked at him；
and from his fixed stare she thought that he must be
working out some theory； some argument。 He had thought；
perhaps； of some fresh point in his position； as to the
bounds of personal liberty。 She waited； silently； thinking
about liberty。
“You’ve won again；” he said at last； without moving。
“I’ve won？” she repeated； thinking of the argument。
“I wish to God I hadn’t asked you here；” he burst out。
“What do you mean？”
“When you’re here； it’s different—I’m happy。 You’ve only
to walk to the window—you’ve only to talk about liberty。
When I saw you down there among them all—” He stopped
short。
“You thought how ordinary I was。”
“I tried to think so。 But I thought you more wonderful
than ever。”
An immense relief； and a reluctance to enjoy that relief；
conflicted in her heart。
She slid down into the chair。
“I thought you disliked me；” she said。
“God knows I tried；” he replied。 “I’ve done my best to
see you as you are； without any of this damned romantic
nonsense。 That was why I asked you here； and it’s increased
my folly。 When you’re gone I shall look out of
that window and think of you。 I shall waste the whole
evening thinking of you。 I shall waste my whole life； I
believe。”
He spoke with such vehemence that her relief disappeared；
she frowned； and her tone changed to one almost
of severity。
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Night and Day
“This is what I foretold。 We shall gain nothing but unhappiness。
Look at me； Ralph。” He looked at her。 “I assure
you that I’m far more ordinary than I appear。 Beauty
means nothing whatever。 In fact； the most beautiful
women are generally the most stupid。 I’m not that； but
I’m a matteroffact； prosaic； rather ordinary character； I
order the dinner； I pay the bills； I do the accounts； I wind
up the clock； and I never look at a book。”
“You forget—” he began； but she would not let him
speak。
“You e and see me among flowers and pictures； and
think me mysterious； romantic； and all the rest of it。 Being
yourself very inexperienced and very emotional； you
go home and invent a story about me； and now you can’t
separate me from the person you’ve imagined me to be。
You call that； I suppose； being in love； as a matter of fact
it’s being in delusion。 All romantic people are the same；”
she added。 “My mother spends her life in making stories
about the people she’s fond of。 But I won’t have you do it
about me； if I can help it。”
“You can’t help it；” he said。
“I warn you it’s the source of all evil。”
“And of all good；”