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then joined his fingertips and crossed his thin legs over
the fender； as if he experienced a good deal of pleasure。
At length Denham shut the book； and stood； with his
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Night and Day
back to the fireplace； occasionally making an inarticulate
humming sound which seemed to refer to Sir Thomas
Browne。 He put his hat on his head； and stood over Rodney；
who still lay stretched back in his chair； with his toes
within the fender。
“I shall look in again some time；” Denham remarked；
upon which Rodney held up his hand； containing his manuscript；
without saying anything except—”If you like。”
Denham took the manuscript and went。 Two days later
he was much surprised to find a thin parcel on his
breakfastplate； which； on being opened； revealed the very
copy of Sir Thomas Browne which he had studied so intently
in Rodney’s rooms。 From sheer laziness he returned
no thanks； but he thought of Rodney from time to time
with interest； disconnecting him from Katharine； and
meant to go round one evening and smoke a pipe with
him。 It pleased Rodney thus to give away whatever his
friends genuinely admired。 His library was constantly being
diminished。
CHAPTER VI
Of all the hours of an ordinary working weekday； which
are the pleasantest to look forward to and to look back
upon？ If a single instance is of use in framing a theory； it
may be said that the minutes between niwentyfive
and nihirty in the morning had a singular charm for
Mary Datchet。 She spent them in a very enviable frame of
mind； her contentment was almost unalloyed。 High in
the air as her flat was； some beams from the morning sun
reached her even in November； striking straight at curtain；
chair； and carpet； and painting there three bright；
true spaces of green； blue； and purple； upon which the
eye rested with a pleasure which gave physical warmth
to the body。
There were few mornings when Mary did not look up； as
she bent to lace her boots； and as she followed the yellow
rod from curtain to breakfasttable she usually
breathed some sigh of thankfulness that her life provided
her with such moments of pure enjoyment。 She was robbing
no one of anything； and yet； to get so much plea
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Virginia Woolf
sure from simple things； such as eating one’s breakfast
alone in a room which had nice colors in it； clean from the
skirting of the boards to the corners of the ceiling； seemed
to suit her so thoroughly that she used at first to hunt
about for some one to apologize to； or for some flaw in the
situation。 She had now been six months in London； and
she could find no flaw； but that； as she invariably concluded
by the time her boots were laced； was solely and
entirely due to the fact that she had her work。 Every day；
as she stood with her dispatchbox in her hand at the door
of her flat； and gave one look back into the room to see
that everything was straight before she left； she said to
herself that she was very glad that she was going to leave
it all； that to have sat there all day long； in the enjoyment
of leisure； would have been intolerable。
Out in the street she liked to think herself one of the
workers who； at this hour； take their way in rapid single
file along all the broad pavements of the city； with their
heads slightly lowered； as if all their effort were to follow
each other as closely as might be； so that Mary used to
figure to herself a straight rabbitrun worn by their un
swerving feet upon the pavement。 But she liked to pretend
that she was indistinguishable from the rest； and
that when a wet day drove her to the Underground or
omnibus； she gave and took her share of crowd and wet
with clerks and typists and mercial men； and shared
with them the serious business of windingup the world
to tick for another fourandtwenty hours。
Thus thinking； on the particular morning in question；
she made her away across Lincoln’s Inn Fields and up
Kingsway； and so through Southampton Row until she
reached her office in Russell Square。 Now and then she
would pause and look into the window of some bookseller
or flower shop； where； at this early hour； the goods
were being arranged； and empty gaps behind the plate
glass revealed a state of undress。 Mary felt kindly disposed
towards the shopkeepers； and hoped that they would
trick the midday public into purchasing； for at this hour
of the morning she ranged herself entirely on the side of
the shopkeepers and bank clerks； and regarded all who
slept late and had money to spend as her enemy and
natural prey。 And directly she had crossed the road at
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Night and Day
Holborn； her thoughts all came naturally and regularly to
roost upon her work； and she forgot that she was； properly
speaking； an amateur worker； whose services were
unpaid； and could hardly be said to wind the world up for
its daily task； since the world； so far； had shown very
little desire to take the boons which Mary’s society for
woman’s suffrage had offered it。
She was thinking all the way up Southampton Row of
notepaper and foolscap； and how an economy in the use
of paper might be effected （without； of course； hurting
Mrs。 Seal’s feelings）； for she was certain that the great
organizers always pounce； to begin with； upon trifles like
these； and build up their triumphant reforms upon a basis
of absolute solidity； and； without acknowledging it
for a moment； Mary Datchet was determined to be a great
organizer； and had already doomed her society to reconstruction
of the most radical kind。 Once or twice lately； it
is true； she had started； broad awake； before turning into
Russell Square； and denounced herself rather sharply for
being already in a groove； capable； that is； of thinking
the same thoughts every morning at the same hour； so
that the chestnutcolored brick of the Russell Square
houses had some curious connection with her thoughts
about office economy； and served also as a sign that she
should get into trim for meeting Mr。 Clacton； or Mrs。 Seal；
or whoever might be beforehand with her at the office。