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speak；” she went on saying； in time to her own footsteps；
and pletely forgot Mary Datchet。
William Rodney； having e back earlier from the office
than he expected； sat down to pick out the melodies
in “The Magic Flute” upon the piano。 Katharine was late；
but that was nothing new； and； as she had no particular
liking for music； and he felt in the mood for it； perhaps it
was as well。 This defect in Katharine was the more strange；
William reflected； because； as a rule； the women of her
family were unusually musical。 Her cousin； Cassandra
Otway； for example； had a very fine taste in music； and
he had charming recollections of her in a light fantastic
attitude； playing the flute in the morningroom at Stogdon
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Night and Day
House。 He recalled with pleasure the amusing way in which
her nose； long like all the Otway noses； seemed to extend
itself into the flute； as if she were some inimitably graceful
species of musical mole。 The little picture suggested
very happily her melodious and whimsical temperament。
The enthusiasms of a young girl of distinguished upbringing
appealed to William； and suggested a thousand ways
in which； with his training and acplishments； he could
be of service to her。 She ought to be given the chance of
hearing good music； as it is played by those who have
inherited the great tradition。 Moreover； from one or two
remarks let fall in the course of conversation； he thought
it possible that she had what Katharine professed to lack；
a passionate； if untaught； appreciation of literature。 He
had lent her his play。 Meanwhile； as Katharine was certain
to be late； and “The Magic Flute” is nothing without
a voice； he felt inclined to spend the time of waiting in
writing a letter to Cassandra； exhorting her to read Pope
in preference to Dostoevsky； until her feeling for form
was more highly developed。 He set himself down to pose
this piece of advice in a shape which was light and
playful； and yet did no injury to a cause which he had
near at heart； when he heard Katharine upon the stairs。
A moment later it was plain that he had been mistaken；
it was not Katharine； but he could not settle himself to
his letter。 His temper had changed from one of urbane
contentment—indeed of delicious expansion—to one of
uneasiness and expectation。 The dinner was brought in；
and had to be set by the fire to keep hot。 It was now a
quarter of an hour beyond the specified time。 He bethought
him of a piece of news which had depressed him
in the earlier part of the day。 Owing to the illness of one
of his fellowclerks； it was likely that he would get no
holiday until later in the year； which would mean the
postponement of their marriage。 But this possibility； after
all； was not so disagreeable as the probability which
forced itself upon him with every tick of the clock that
Katharine had pletely forgotten her engagement。 Such
things had happened less frequently since Christmas； but
what if they were going to begin to happen again？ What
if their marriage should turn out； as she had said； a farce？
He acquitted her of any wish to hurt him wantonly； but
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Virginia Woolf
there was something in her character which made it impossible
for her to help hurting people。 Was she cold？
Was she selfabsorbed？ He tried to fit her with each of
these descriptions； but he had to own that she puzzled
him。
“There are so many things that she doesn’t understand；”
he reflected； glancing at the letter to Cassandra which he
had begun and laid aside。 What prevented him from finishing
the letter which he had so much enjoyed beginning？
The reason was that Katharine might； at any moment；
enter the room。 The thought； implying his bondage
to her； irritated him acutely。 It occurred to him that
he would leave the letter lying open for her to see； and
he would take the opportunity of telling her that he had
sent his play to Cassandra for her to criticize。 Possibly；
but not by any means certainly； this would annoy her—
and as he reached the doubtful fort of this conclusion；
there was a knock on the door and Katharine came
in。 They kissed each other coldly and she made no apology
for being late。 Nevertheless； her mere presence moved
him strangely； but he was determined that this should
not weaken his resolution to make some kind of stand
against her； to get at the truth about her。 He let her
make her own disposition of clothes and busied himself
with the plates。
“I’ve got a piece of news for you； Katharine；” he said
directly they sat down to table； “I shan’t get my holiday
in April。 We shall have to put off our marriage。”
He rapped the words out with a certain degree of briskness。
Katharine started a little； as if the announcement
disturbed her thoughts。
“That won’t make any difference； will it？ I mean the
lease isn’t signed；” she replied。 “But why？ What has happened？”
He told her； in an offhand way； how one of his fellow
clerks had broken down； and might have to be away for
months； six months even； in which case they would have
to think over their position。 He said it in a way which
struck her； at last； as oddly casual。 She looked at him。
There was no outward sign that he was annoyed with her。
Was she well dressed？ She thought sufficiently so。 Perhaps
she was late？ She looked for a clock。
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Night and Day
“It’s a good thing we didn’t take the house then；” she
repeated thoughtfully。
“It’ll mean； too； I’m afraid； that I shan’t be as free for
a considerable time as I have been；” he continued。 She
had time to reflect that she gained something by all this；
though it was too soon to determine what。 But the light
which had been burning with such intensity as she came
along was suddenly overclouded； as much by his manner
as by his news。 She had been prepared to meet opposition；
which is simple to encounter pared with—she
did not know what it was that she had to encounter。 The
meal passed in quiet； wellcontrolled talk about indifferent
things。 Music was not a subject about which s