[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第54部分

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There　was　a　brotherly　kindness　in　his　voice　which　seemed　
to　her　magnanimous；　when　she　reflected　that　she　had　
cut　short　his　explanations　and　shown　little　interest　in　his　
change　of　plan。　She　gave　him　her　reasons　for　thinking　
that　she　might　profit　by　such　a　journey；　omitting　the　one　
reason　which　had　set　all　the　rest　in　motion。　He　listened　
attentively；　and　made　no　attempt　to　dissuade　her。　In　truth；　
he　found　himself　curiously　eager　to　make　certain　of　her　
good　sense；　and　accepted　each　fresh　proof　of　it　with　satisfaction；　
as　though　it　helped　him　to　make　up　his　mind　
about　something。　She　forgot　the　pain　he　had　caused　her；　
and　in　place　of　it　she　became　conscious　of　a　steady　tide　
of　wellbeing　which　harmonized　very　aptly　with　the　tramp　
of　their　feet　upon　the　dry　road　and　the　support　of　his　
arm。　The　fort　was　the　more　glowing　in　that　it　seemed　
to　be　the　reward　of　her　determination　to　behave　to　him　
simply　and　without　attempting　to　be　other　than　she　was。　
Instead　of　making　out　an　interest　in　the　poets；　she　avoided　
them　instinctively；　and　dwelt　rather　insistently　upon　the　
practical　nature　of　her　gifts。　

In　a　practical　way　she　asked　for　particulars　of　his　cot


192　



Virginia　Woolf　

tage；　which　hardly　existed　in　his　mind；　and　corrected　his　
vagueness。　

“You　must　see　that　there’s　water；”　she　insisted；　with　an　
exaggeration　of　interest。　She　avoided　asking　him　what　
he　meant　to　do　in　this　cottage；　and；　at　last；　when　all　the　
practical　details　had　been　thrashed　out　as　much　as　possible；　
he　rewarded　her　by　a　more　intimate　statement。　

“One　of　the　rooms；”　he　said；　“must　be　my　study；　for；　
you　see；　Mary；　I’m　going　to　write　a　book。”　Here　he　withdrew　
his　arm　from　hers；　lit　his　pipe；　and　they　tramped　on　
in　a　sagacious　kind　of　radeship；　the　most　plete　
they　had　attained　in　all　their　friendship。　

“And　what’s　your　book　to　be　about？”　she　said；　as　boldly　
as　if　she　had　never　e　to　grief　with　Ralph　in　talking　
about　books。　He　told　her　unhesitatingly　that　he　meant　to　
write　the　history　of　the　English　village　from　Saxon　days　
to　the　present　time。　Some　such　plan　had　lain　as　a　seed　in　
his　mind　for　many　years；　and　now　that　he　had　decided；　in　
a　flash；　to　give　up　his　profession；　the　seed　grew　in　the　
space　of　twenty　minutes　both　tall　and　lusty。　He　was　surprised　
himself　at　the　positive　way　in　which　he　spoke。　It　

was　the　same　with　the　question　of　his　cottage。　That　had　
e　into　existence；　too；　in　an　unromantic　shape　—a　
square　white　house　standing　just　off　the　high　road；　no　
doubt；　with　a　neighbor　who　kept　a　pig　and　a　dozen　squalling　
children；　for　these　plans　were　shorn　of　all　romance　in　
his　mind；　and　the　pleasure　he　derived　from　thinking　of　
them　was　checked　directly　it　passed　a　very　sober　limit。　
So　a　sensible　man　who　has　lost　his　chance　of　some　beautiful　
inheritance　might　tread　out　the　narrow　bounds　of　
his　actual　dwellingplace；　and　assure　himself　that　life　is　
supportable　within　its　demesne；　only　one　must　grow　turnips　
and　cabbages；　not　melons　and　pomegranates。　Certainly　
Ralph　took　some　pride　in　the　resources　of　his　mind；　
and　was　insensibly　helped　to　right　himself　by　Mary’s　trust　
in　him。　She　wound　her　ivy　spray　round　her　ashplant；　and　
for　the　first　time　for　many　days；　when　alone　with　Ralph；　
set　no　spies　upon　her　motives；　sayings；　and　feelings；　but　
surrendered　herself　to　plete　happiness。　

Thus　talking；　with　easy　silences　and　some　pauses　to　
look　at　the　view　over　the　hedge　and　to　decide　upon　the　
species　of　a　little　graybrown　bird　slipping　among　the　

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Night　and　Day　

twigs；　they　walked　into　Lincoln；　and　after　strolling　up　
and　down　the　main　street；　decided　upon　an　inn　where　
the　rounded　window　suggested　substantial　fare；　nor　were　
they　mistaken。　For　over　a　hundred　and　fifty　years　hot　
joints；　potatoes；　greens；　and　apple　puddings　had　been　
served　to　generations　of　country　gentlemen；　and　now；　
sitting　at　a　table　in　the　hollow　of　the　bow　window；　Ralph　
and　Mary　took　their　share　of　this　perennial　feast。　Looking　
across　the　joint；　halfway　through　the　meal；　Mary　
wondered　whether　Ralph　would　ever　e　to　look　quite　
like　the　other　people　in　the　room。　Would　he　be　absorbed　
among　the　round　pink　faces；　pricked　with　little　white　
bristles；　the　calves　fitted　in　shiny　brown　leather；　the　blackand
white　check　suits；　which　were　sprinkled　about　in　the　
same　room　with　them？　She　half　hoped　so；　she　thought　
that　it　was　only　in　his　mind　that　he　was　different。　She　
did　not　wish　him　to　be　too　different　from　other　people。　
The　walk　had　given　him　a　ruddy　color；　too；　and　his　eyes　
were　lit　up　by　a　steady；　honest　light；　which　could　not　
make　the　simplest　farmer　feel　ill　at　ease；　or　suggest　to　
the　most　devout　of　clergymen　a　disposition　to　sneer　at　

his　faith。　She　loved　the　steep　cliff　of　his　forehead；　and　
pared　it　to　the　brow　of　a　young　Greek　horseman；　who　
reins　his　horse　back　so　sharply　that　it　half　falls　on　its　
haunches。　He　always　seemed　to　her　like　a　rider　on　a　spirited　
horse。　And　there　was　an　exaltation　to　her　in　being　
with　him；　because　there　was　a　risk　that　he　would　not　be　
able　to　keep　to　the　right　pace　among　other　people。　Sitting　
opposite　him　at　the　little　table　in　the　window；　she　
came　back　to　that　state　of　careless　exaltation　which　had　
overe　her　when　they　halted　by　the　gate；　but　now　it　
was　acpanied　by　a　sense　of　sanity　and　security；　for　
she　felt　that　they　had　a　feeling　in　mon　which　scarcely　
needed　embodiment　in　words。　How　silent　he　was！　leaning　
his　forehead　on　his　hand；　now　and　then；　and　again　
looking　steadily　and　gravely　at　the　backs　of　the　two　men　
at　the　next　table；　with　so　little　selfconsciousness　that　
she　could　almost　watch　his　mind　placing　one　thought　
solidly　upon　the　top　of　another；　she　thought　that　she　
could　feel　him　thinking；　through　the　shade　of　her　fingers；　
and　she　could　anticipate　the　exact　moment　when　
he　would　put　an　end　to　his　thought　and　turn　a　little　in　

194　



Virginia　Woolf　

his　chair　and　say：　

“Well；　Mary—？”　inviting　her　to　take　up　the　thread　of　
thought　where　he　had　dropped　it。　

And　at　that　very　moment　he　turned　just　so；　and　said：　

“Well；　Mary？”　with　the　curious　touch　of　diffidence　which　
she　loved　in　him。　

She　laughed；　and　she　explained　her　laugh　on　the　spur　
of　the　moment　by　the　look　of　the　people　in　the　street　
below。　There　was　a　motorcar　with　an　old　lady　swathed　in　
blue　veils；　and　a　lady’s　maid　on　the　seat　opposite；　holding　
a　King　Charles’s　spaniel；　there　was　a　countrywoman　
wheeling　a　perambulator　full　of　sticks　down　the　middle　
of　the　road；　there　was　a　bailiff　in　gaiters　discussing　the　
state　of　the　cattle　market　with　a　dissenting　minister—so　
she　defined　them。　

She　ran　over　this　list　without　any　fear　that　her　panion　
would　think　her　trivial。　Indeed；　whether　it　was　
due　to　the　warmth　of　the　room　or　to　the　good　roast　beef；　
or　whether　Ralph　had　achieved　the　process　which　is　called　
making　up　one’s　mind；　certainly　he　had　given　up　testing　
the　good　sense；　the　independent　character；　the　intelli


gence　shown　in　her　remarks。　He　had　been　building　one　of　
those　piles　of　thought；　as　ramshackle　and　fantastic　as　a　
Chinese　pagoda；　half　from　words　let　fall　by　gentlemen　in　
gaiters；　half　from　the　litter　in　his　own　mind；　about　duck　
shooting　and　legal　history；　about　the　Roman　occupation　
of　Lincoln　and　the　relations　of　country　gentlemen　with　
their　wives；　when；　from　all　this　disconnected　rambling；　
there　suddenly　formed　itself　in　his　mind　the　idea　that　he　
would　ask　Mary　to　marry　him。　The　idea　was　so　spontaneous　
that　it　seemed　to　shape　itself　of　its　own　accord　before　
his　eyes。　It　was　then　that　he　turned　round　and　made　
use　of　his　old；　instinctive　phrase：　

“Well；　Mary—？”　

As　it　presented　itself　to　him　at　first；　the　idea　was　so　
new　and　interesting　that　he　was　half　inclined　to　address　
it；　without　more　ado；　to　Mary　herself。　His　natural　instinct　
to　divide　his　thoughts　carefully　into　two　different　classes　
before　he　expressed　them　to　her　prevailed。　But　as　he　
watched　her　looking　out　of　the　window　and　describing　
the　old　lady；　the　woman　with　the　perambulator；　the　bailiff　
and　the　dissenting　minister；