[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第79部分

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the　following　morning；　“Mrs。　Milvain　is　in　the　kitchen。”　

A　long　wicker　basket　of　flowers　and　branches　had　arrived　
from　the　country；　and　Katharine；　kneeling　upon　the　
floor　of　the　drawingroom；　was　sorting　them　while　
Cassandra　watched　her　from　an　armchair；　and　absentmindedly　
made　spasmodic　offers　of　help　which　were　not　
accepted。　The　maid’s　message　had　a　curious　effect　upon　
Katharine。　

She　rose；　walked　to　the　window；　and；　the　maid　being　
gone；　said　emphatically　and　even　tragically：　

“You　know　what　that　means。”　

Cassandra　had　understood　nothing。　

“Aunt　Celia　is　in　the　kitchen；”　Katharine　repeated。　

“Why　in　the　kitchen？”　Cassandra　asked；　not　unnaturally。　


“Probably　because　she’s　discovered　something；”　
Katharine　replied。　Cassandra’s　thoughts　flew　to　the　subject　
of　her　preoccupation。　

“About　us？”　she　inquired。　

“Heaven　knows；”　Katharine　replied。　“I　shan’t　let　her　
stay　in　the　kitchen；　though。　I　shall　bring　her　up　here。”　

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The　sternness　with　which　this　was　said　suggested　that　
to　bring　Aunt　Celia　upstairs　was；　for　some　reason；　a　disciplinary　
measure。　

“For　goodness’　sake；　Katharine；”　Cassandra　exclaimed；　
jumping　from　her　chair　and　showing　signs　of　agitation；　
“don’t　be　rash。　Don’t　let　her　suspect。　Remember；　nothing’s　
certain—”　

Katharine　assured　her　by　nodding　her　head　several　times；　
but　the　manner　in　which　she　left　the　room　was　not　calculated　
to　inspire　plete　confidence　in　her　diplomacy。　

Mrs。　Milvain　was　sitting；　or　rather　perching；　upon　the　
edge　of　a　chair　in　the　servants’　room。　Whether　there　was　
any　sound　reason　for　her　choice　of　a　subterranean　chamber；　
or　whether　it　corresponded　with　the　spirit　of　her　
quest；　Mrs。　Milvain　invariably　came　in　by　the　back　door　
and　sat　in　the　servants’　room　when　she　was　engaged　in　
confidential　family　transactions。　The　ostensible　reason　
she　gave　was　that　neither　Mr。　nor　Mrs。　Hilbery　should　be　
disturbed。　But；　in　truth；　Mrs。　Milvain　depended　even　more　
than　most　elderly　women　of　her　generation　upon　the　delicious　
emotions　of　intimacy；　agony；　and　secrecy；　and　the　

additional　thrill　provided　by　the　basement　was　one　not　
lightly　to　be　forfeited。　She　protested　almost　plaintively　
when　Katharine　proposed　to　go　upstairs。　

“I’ve　something　that　I　want　to　say　to　you　in　private；”　
she　said；　hesitating　reluctantly　upon　the　threshold　of　her　
ambush。　

“The　drawingroom　is　empty—”　

“But　we　might　meet　your　mother　upon　the　stairs。　We　
might　disturb　your　father；”　Mrs。　Milvain　objected；　taking　
the　precaution　to　speak　in　a　whisper　already。　

But　as　Katharine’s　presence　was　absolutely　necessary　
to　the　success　of　the　interview；　and　as　Katharine　obstinately　
receded　up　the　kitchen　stairs；　Mrs。　Milvain　had　no　
course　but　to　follow　her。　She　glanced　furtively　about　her　
as　she　proceeded　upstairs；　drew　her　skirts　together；　and　
stepped　with　circumspection　past　all　doors；　whether　they　
were　open　or　shut。　

“Nobody　will　overhear　us？”　she　murmured；　when　the　parative　
sanctuary　of　the　drawingroom　had　been　reached。　
“I　see　that　I　have　interrupted　you；”　she　added；　glancing　at　
the　flowers　strewn　upon　the　floor。　A　moment　later　she　

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inquired；　“Was　some　one　sitting　with　you？”　noticing　a　
handkerchief　that　Cassandra　had　dropped　in　her　flight。　

“Cassandra　was　helping　me　to　put　the　flowers　in　water；”　
said　Katharine；　and　she　spoke　so　firmly　and　clearly　
that　Mrs。　Milvain　glanced　nervously　at　the　main　door　and　
then　at　the　curtain　which　divided　the　little　room　with　the　
relics　from　the　drawingroom。　

“Ah；　Cassandra　is　still　with　you；”　she　remarked。　“And　
did　William　send　you　those　lovely　flowers？”　

Katharine　sat　down　opposite　her　aunt　and　said　neither　
yes　nor　no。　She　looked　past　her；　and　it　might　have　been　
thought　that　she　was　considering　very　critically　the　pattern　
of　the　curtains。　Another　advantage　of　the　basement；　
from　Mrs。　Milvain’s　point　of　view；　was　that　it　made　it　
necessary　to　sit　very　close　together；　and　the　light　was　
dim　pared　with　that　which　now　poured　through　three　
windows　upon　Katharine　and　the　basket　of　flowers；　and　
gave　even　the　slight　angular　figure　of　Mrs。　Milvain　herself　
a　halo　of　gold。　

“They’re　from　Stogdon　House；”　said　Katharine　abruptly；　
with　a　little　jerk　of　her　head。　

Mrs。　Milvain　felt　that　it　would　be　easier　to　tell　her　niece　
what　she　wished　to　say　if　they　were　actually　in　physical　
contact；　for　the　spiritual　distance　between　them　was　formidable。　
Katharine；　however；　made　no　overtures；　and　Mrs。　
Milvain；　who　was　possessed　of　rash　but　heroic　courage；　
plunged　without　preface：　

“People　are　talking　about　you；　Katharine。　That　is　why　I　
have　e　this　morning。　You　forgive　me　for　saying　what　
I’d　much　rather　not　say？　What　I　say　is　only　for　your　own　
sake；　my　child。”　

“There’s　nothing　to　forgive　yet；　Aunt　Celia；”　said　
Katharine；　with　apparent　good　humor。　

“People　are　saying　that　William　goes　everywhere　with　
you　and　Cassandra；　and　that　he　is　always　paying　her　attentions。　
At　the　Markhams’　dance　he　sat　out　five　dances　
with　her。　At　the　Zoo　they　were　seen　alone　together。　They　
left　together。　They　never　came　back　here　till　seven　in　the　
evening。　But　that　is　not　all。　They　say　his　manner　is　very　
marked—he　is　quite　different　when　she　is　there。”　

Mrs。　Milvain；　whose　words　had　run　themselves　together；　
and　whose　voice　had　raised　its　tone　almost　to　one　of　

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protest；　here　ceased；　and　looked　intently　at　Katharine；　as　
if　to　judge　the　effect　of　her　munication。　A　slight　rigidity　
had　passed　over　Katharine’s　face。　Her　lips　were　
pressed　together；　her　eyes　were　contracted；　and　they　were　
still　fixed　upon　the　curtain。　These　superficial　changes　
covered　an　extreme　inner　loathing　such　as　might　follow　
the　display　of　some　hideous　or　indecent　spectacle。　The　
indecent　spectacle　was　her　own　action　beheld　for　the　
first　time　from　the　outside；　her　aunt’s　words　made　her　
realize　how　infinitely　repulsive　the　body　of　life　is　without　
its　soul。　

“Well？”　she　said　at　length。　

Mrs。　Milvain　made　a　gesture　as　if　to　bring　her　closer；　
but　it　was　not　returned。　

“We　all　know　how　good　you　are—how　unselfish—how　
you　sacrifice　yourself　to　others。　But　you’ve　been　too　unselfish；　
Katharine。　You　have　made　Cassandra　happy；　and　
she　has　taken　advantage　of　your　goodness。”　

“I　don’t　understand；　Aunt　Celia；”　said　Katharine。　“What　
has　Cassandra　done？”　

“Cassandra　has　behaved　in　a　way　that　I　could　not　have　

thought　possible；”　said　Mrs。　Milvain　warmly。　“She　has　
been　utterly　selfish—utterly　heartless。　I　must　speak　to　
her　before　I　go。”　

“I　don’t　understand；”　Katharine　persisted。　

Mrs。　Milvain　looked　at　her。　Was　it　possible　that　Katharine　
really　doubted？　That　there　was　something　that　Mrs。　Milvain　
herself　did　not　understand？　She　braced　herself；　and　pronounced　
the　tremendous　words：　

“Cassandra　has　stolen　William’s　love。”　

Still　the　words　seemed　to　have　curiously　little　effect。　

“Do　you　mean；”　said　Katharine；　“that　he　has　fallen　in　
love　with　her？”　

“There　are　ways　of　making　men　fall　in　love　with　one；　
Katharine。”　

Katharine　remained　silent。　The　silence　alarmed　Mrs。　
Milvain；　and　she　began　hurriedly：　

“Nothing　would　have　made　me　say　these　things　but　
your　own　good。　I　have　not　wished　to　interfere；　I　have　not　
wished　to　give　you　pain。　I　am　a　useless　old　woman。　I　
have　no　children　of　my　own。　I　only　want　to　see　you　happy；　
Katharine。”　

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Again　she　stretched　forth　her　arms；　but　they　remained　
empty。　

“You　are　not　going　to　say　these　things　to　Cassandra；”　
said　Katharine　suddenly。　“You’ve　said　them　to　me；　that’s　
enough。”　

Katharine　spoke　so　low　and　with　such　restraint　that　
Mrs。　Milvain　had　to　strain　to　catch　her　words；　and　when　
she　heard　them　she　was　dazed　by　them。　

“I’ve　made　you　angry！　I　knew　I　should！”　she　exclaimed。　
She　quivered；　and　a　kind　of　sob　shook　her；　but　even　to　
have　made　Katharine　angry　was　some　relief；　and　allowed　
her　to　feel　some　of　the　agreeable　sensations　of　martyrdom。　

“Yes；”　said　Katharine；　standing　up；　“I’m　so　angry　that　I　
don’t　want　to　say　anything　more。　I　think　you’d　better　go；　
Aunt　Celia。　We　don’t　understand　each　other。”　

At　these　words　Mrs。　Milvain　looked　for　a　moment　terribly　
apprehensive；　she　glanced　at　her　niece’s　face；　but　
read　no　pity　there；　whereupon　she　folded　her　hands　upon　
a　black　velvet　bag　which　she　carried　in　an　attitude　that　
was　almost　one　of　prayer。　Whatever　divinity　she　prayed　
to；　if　pray　she　did；　at　any　rate　she　recovered　her　dignity　

in　a　singular　way　and　faced　her　niece。　

“Married　love；”　she　said　slowly　and　with　emphasis　upon　
every　word；　“is　the　most　sacred　of　all　loves。　The　love　of　
husband　and　wife　is　the　most　holy　we　know。　That　is　the　
lesson　Mamma’s　children　learnt　from　her；　that　is　what　they　
can　never　forget。　I　have　tried　to　speak　as　she　would　have　
wished　her　daughter　to　speak。　You　are　her　grandchild。”　

Katharine　seemed　to　judge　this　defence　upon　its　merits；　
and　then　to　convict　it　of　falsity。　

“I　don’t　see　that　there　is　any　excuse　for　your　behavior；”　
she　said。　

At　these　words　Mrs。　Milvain　rose　and　stood　for　a　moment　
beside　her　niece。　She　had　never　met　with　such　treatment　
before；　and　she　did　not　know　with　what　weapons　to　
break　down　the　terrible　wall　of　resistance　offered　her　by　
one　who；　by　virtue　of　youth　and　beauty　and　sex；　should　
have　been　all　tears　and　supplications。　But　Mrs。　Milvain　
herself　was　obstinate；　upon　a　matter　of　this　kind　she　
could　not　admit　that　she　was　either　beaten　or　mistaken。　
She　beheld　herself　the　champion　of　married　love　in　its　
purity　and　supremacy；　what　her　niece　stood　for　she　was　

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quite　unable　to　say；　but　she　was　filled　with　the　gravest　
suspicions。　The　old　woman　and　the　young　woman　stood　
side　by　side　in　unbroken　silence。　Mrs。　Milvain　could　not　
make　up　her　mind　to　withdraw　while　her　principles　
trembled　in　the　balance　and　her　curiosity　remained　unappeased。　
She　ransacked　her　mind　for　some　question