Night and Day Virginia Woolf (the best electronic book reader .txt) 📖

some such suitable expedition towards teatime when he found himself stopped on his own doorstep by his sister, Mrs. Milvain. She should, on hearing that no one was at home, have withdrawn submissively, but instead she accepted his halfhearted invitation to come in, and he found himself in the melancholy position of being forced to order tea for her and sit in the drawing-room while she drank it. She speedily made it plain that she was only thus exacting because she had come on a matter of business. He was by no means exhilarated at the news.

“Katharine is out this afternoon,” he remarked. “Why not come round later and discuss it with her⁠—with us both, eh?”

“My dear Trevor, I have particular reasons for wishing to talk to you alone.⁠ ⁠… Where is Katharine?”

“She’s out with her young man, naturally. Cassandra plays the part of chaperone very usefully. A charming young woman that⁠—a great favorite of mine.” He turned his stone between his fingers, and conceived different methods of leading Celia away from her obsession, which, he supposed, must have reference to the domestic affairs of Cyril as usual.

“With Cassandra,” Mrs. Milvain repeated significantly. “With Cassandra.”

“Yes, with Cassandra,” Mr. Hilbery agreed urbanely, pleased at the diversion. “I think they said they were going to Hampton Court, and I rather believe they were taking a protégé of mine, Ralph Denham, a very clever fellow, too, to amuse Cassandra. I thought the arrangement very suitable.” He was prepared to dwell at some length upon this safe topic, and trusted that Katharine would come in before he had done with it.

“Hampton Court always seems to me an ideal spot for engaged couples. There’s the Maze, there’s a nice place for having tea⁠—I forget what they call it⁠—and then, if the young man knows his business he contrives to take his lady upon the river. Full of possibilities⁠—full. Cake, Celia?” Mr. Hilbery continued. “I respect my dinner too much, but that can’t possibly apply to you. You’ve never observed that feast, so far as I can remember.”

Her brother’s affability did not deceive Mrs. Milvain; it slightly saddened her; she well knew the cause of it. Blind and infatuated as usual!

“Who is this Mr. Denham?” she asked.

“Ralph Denham?” said Mr. Hilbery, in relief that her mind had taken this turn. “A very interesting young man. I’ve a great belief in him. He’s an authority upon our medieval institutions, and if he weren’t forced to earn his living he would write a book that very much wants writing⁠—”

“He is not well off, then?” Mrs. Milvain interposed.

“Hasn’t a penny, I’m afraid, and a family more or less dependent on him.”

“A mother and sisters?⁠—His father is dead?”

“Yes, his father died some years ago,” said Mr. Hilbery, who was prepared to draw upon his imagination, if necessary, to keep Mrs. Milvain supplied with facts about the private history of Ralph Denham since, for some inscrutable reason, the subject took her fancy.

“His father has been dead some time, and this young man had to take his place⁠—”

“A legal family?” Mrs. Milvain inquired. “I fancy I’ve seen the name somewhere.”

Mr. Hilbery shook his head. “I should be inclined to doubt whether they were altogether in that walk of life,” he observed. “I fancy that Denham once told me that his father was a corn merchant. Perhaps he said a stockbroker. He came to grief, anyhow, as stockbrokers have a way of doing. I’ve a great respect for Denham,” he added. The remark sounded to his ears unfortunately conclusive, and he was afraid that there was nothing more to be said about Denham. He examined the tips of his fingers carefully. “Cassandra’s grown into a very charming young woman,” he started afresh. “Charming to look at, and charming to talk to, though her historical knowledge is not altogether profound. Another cup of tea?”

Mrs. Milvain had given her cup a little push, which seemed to indicate some momentary displeasure. But she did not want any more tea.

“It is Cassandra that I have come about,” she began. “I am very sorry to say that Cassandra is not at all what you think her, Trevor. She has imposed upon your and Maggie’s goodness. She has behaved in a way that would have seemed incredible⁠—in this house of all houses⁠—were it not for other circumstances that are still more incredible.”

Mr. Hilbery looked taken aback, and was silent for a second.

“It all sounds very black,” he remarked urbanely, continuing his examination of his fingernails. “But I own I am completely in the dark.”

Mrs. Milvain became rigid, and emitted her message in little short sentences of extreme intensity.

“Who has Cassandra gone out with? William Rodney. Who has Katharine gone out with? Ralph Denham. Why are they forever meeting each other round street corners, and going to music-halls, and taking cabs late at night? Why will Katharine not tell me the truth when I question her? I understand the reason now. Katharine has entangled herself with this unknown lawyer; she has seen fit to condone Cassandra’s conduct.”

There was another slight pause.

“Ah, well, Katharine will no doubt have some explanation to give me,” Mr. Hilbery replied imperturbably. “It’s a little too complicated for me to take in all at once, I confess⁠—and, if you won’t think me rude, Celia, I think I’ll be getting along towards Knightsbridge.”

Mrs. Milvain rose at once.

“She has condoned Cassandra’s conduct and entangled herself with Ralph Denham,” she repeated. She stood very erect with the dauntless air of one testifying to the truth regardless of consequences. She knew from past discussions that the only way to counter her brother’s indolence and indifference was to shoot her statements at him in a compressed form once finally upon leaving the room. Having spoken thus, she restrained herself from adding another word, and left the house with the dignity of one inspired by a great ideal.

She had certainly framed her remarks in such a way as to prevent her brother from paying his call in the region of Knightsbridge. He had no fears for Katharine, but there was a suspicion at the back of his mind that Cassandra