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could give him certainty？ Could Katharine； Katharine who
had lately lain in his arms； Katharine herself the most
admired of women？ He looked at her； with doubt； and
with anxiety； but said nothing。
“Yes； yes；” she said； interpreting his wish for assurance；
“it’s true。 I know what she feels for you。”
“She loves me？”
Katharine nodded。
“Ah； but who knows what I feel？ How can I be sure of
my feeling myself？ Ten minutes ago I asked you to marry
me。 I still wish it—I don’t know what I wish—”
He clenched his hands and turned away。 He suddenly
faced her and demanded： “Tell me what you feel for
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Night and Day
Denham。”
“For Ralph Denham？” she asked。 “Yes！” she exclaimed；
as if she had found the answer to some momentarily perplexing
question。 “You’re jealous of me； William； but you’re
not in love with me。 I’m jealous of you。 Therefore； for
both our sakes； I say； speak to Cassandra at once。”
He tried to pose himself。 He walked up and down
the room； he paused at the window and surveyed the
flowers strewn upon the floor。 Meanwhile his desire to
have Katharine’s assurance confirmed became so insistent
that he could no longer deny the overmastering
strength of his feeling for Cassandra。
“You’re right；” he exclaimed； ing to a standstill and
rapping his knuckles sharply upon a small table carrying
one slender vase。 “I love Cassandra。”
As he said this； the curtains hanging at the door of the
little room parted； and Cassandra herself stepped forth。
“I have overheard every word！” she exclaimed。
A pause succeeded this announcement。 Rodney made a
step forward and said：
“Then you know what I wish to ask you。 Give me your
answer—”
She put her hands before her face； she turned away and
seemed to shrink from both of them。
“What Katharine said；” she murmured。 “But；” she added；
raising her head with a look of fear from the kiss with
which he greeted her admission； “how frightfully difficult
it all is！ Our feelings； I mean —yours and mine and
Katharine’s。 Katharine； tell me； are we doing right？”
“Right—of course we’re doing right；” William answered
her； “if； after what you’ve heard； you can marry a man of
such inprehensible confusion； such deplorable—”
“Don’t； William；” Katharine interposed； “Cassandra has
heard us； she can judge what we are； she knows better
than we could tell her。”
But； still holding William’s hand； questions and desires
welled up in Cassandra’s heart。 Had she done wrong in
listening？ Why did Aunt Celia blame her？ Did Katharine
think her right？ Above all； did William really love her； for
ever and ever； better than any one？
“I must be first with him； Katharine！” she exclaimed。 “I
can’t share him even with you。”
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Virginia Woolf
“I shall never ask that；” said Katharine。 She moved a
little away from where they sat and began halfconsciously
sorting her flowers。
“But you’ve shared with me；” Cassandra said。 “Why can’t
I share with you？ Why am I so mean？ I know why it is；” she
added。 “We understand each other； William and I。 You’ve
never understood each other。 You’re too different。”
“I’ve never admired anybody more；” William interposed。
“It’s not that”—Cassandra tried to enlighten him—”it’s
understanding。”
“Have I never understood you； Katharine？ Have I been
very selfish？”
“Yes；” Cassandra interposed。 “You’ve asked her for sympathy；
and she’s not sympathetic； you’ve wanted her to
be practical； and she’s not practical。 You’ve been selfish；
you’ve been exacting—and so has Katharine—but it
wasn’t anybody’s fault。”
Katharine had listened to this attempt at analysis with
keen attention。 Cassandra’s words seemed to rub the old
blurred image of life and freshen it so marvelously that it
looked new again。 She turned to William。
“It’s quite true；” she said。 “It was nobody’s fault。”
“There are many things that he’ll always e to you
for；” Cassandra continued； still reading from her invisible
book。 “I accept that； Katharine。 I shall never dispute it。
I want to be generous as you’ve been generous。 But being
in love makes it more difficult for me。”
They were silent。 At length William broke the silence。
“One thing I beg of you both； he said； and the old
nervousness of manner returned as he glanced at
Katharine。 “We will never discuss these matters again。
It’s not that I’m timid and conventional； as you think；
Katharine。 It’s that it spoils things to discuss them； it
unsettles people’s minds； and now we’re all so happy—”
Cassandra ratified this conclusion so far as she was concerned；
and William； after receiving the exquisite pleasure
of her glance； with its absolute affection and trust；
looked anxiously at Katharine。
“Yes； I’m happy；” she assured him。 “And I agree。 We will
never talk about it again。”
“Oh； Katharine； Katharine！” Cassandra cried； holding out
her arms while the tears ran down her cheeks。
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Night and Day
CHAPTER XXX
The day was so different from other days to three people
in the house that the mon routine of household life—
the maid waiting at table； Mrs。 Hilbery writing a letter；
the clock striking； and the door opening； and all the other
signs of longestablished civilization appeared suddenly
to have no meaning save as they lulled Mr。 and Mrs。 Hilbery
into the belief that nothing unusual had taken place。 It
chanced that Mrs。 Hilbery was depressed without visible
cause； unless a certain crudeness verging upon coarseness
in the temper of her favorite Elizabethans could be
held responsible for the mood。 At any rate； she had shut
up “The Duchess of Malfi” with a sigh； and wished to
know； so she told Rodney at dinner； whether there wasn’t
some young writer with a touch of the great spirit—somebody
who made you believe that life was beautiful？ She
got little help from Rodney； and after singing her plaintive
requiem for the death of poetry by herself； she
charmed herself into go