《夜与日》第131章

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。”　
351　
Night　and　Day　
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　
352　
Virginia　Woolf　
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　
353　
Night　and　Day　
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。　Milvai