examine it。
“I like this fur；” she said； “I like your clothes。 And you
mustn’t think that I’m going to marry Ralph；” she continued；
in the same tone； “because he doesn’t care for me at
all。 He cares for some one else。” Her head remained bent；
and her hand still rested upon the skirt。
“It’s a shabby old dress；” said Katharine； and the only
sign that Mary’s words had reached her was that she spoke
with a little jerk。
“You don’t mind my telling you that？” said Mary； raising
herself。
“No； no；” said Katharine； “but you’re mistaken； aren’t
you？” She was； in truth； horribly unfortable； dismayed；
indeed； disillusioned。 She disliked the turn things had
taken quite intensely。 The indecency of it afflicted her。
The suffering implied by the tone appalled her。 She looked
at Mary furtively； with eyes that were full of apprehension。
But if she had hoped to find that these words had
been spoken without understanding of their meaning；
she was at once disappointed。 Mary lay back in her chair；
frowning slightly； and looking； Katharine thought； as if
she had lived fifteen years or so in the space of a few
minutes。
“There are some things； don’t you think； that one can’t
be mistaken about？” Mary said； quietly and almost coldly。
“That is what puzzles me about this question of being in
love。 I’ve always prided myself upon being reasonable；”
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Night and Day
she added。 “I didn’t think I could have felt this—I mean
if the other person didn’t。 I was foolish。 I let myself
pretend。” Here she paused。 “For； you see； Katharine；” she
proceeded； rousing herself and speaking with greater
energy； “I am in love。 There’s no doubt about that… 。 I’m
tremendously in love … with Ralph。” The little forward
shake of her head； which shook a lock of hair； together
with her brighter color； gave her an appearance at once
proud and defiant。
Katharine thought to herself； “That’s how it feels then。”
She hesitated； with a feeling that it was not for her to
speak； and then said； in a low tone； “You’ve got that。”
“Yes；” said Mary； “I’ve got that。 One wouldn’t not be in
love… 。 But I didn’t mean to talk about that； I only
wanted you to know。 There’s another thing I want to tell
you …” She paused。 “I haven’t any authority from Ralph
to say it； but I’m sure of this—he’s in love with you。”
Katharine looked at her again； as if her first glance
must have been deluded； for； surely； there must be some
outward sign that Mary was talking in an excited； or bewildered；
or fantastic manner。 No； she still frowned； as if
she sought her way through the clauses of a difficult
argument； but she still looked more like one who reasons
than one who feels。
“That proves that you’re mistaken—utterly mistaken；”
said Katharine； speaking reasonably； too。 She had no need
to verify the mistake by a glance at her own recollections；
when the fact was so clearly stamped upon her
mind that if Ralph had any feeling towards her it was one
of critical hostility。 She did not give the matter another
thought； and Mary； now that she had stated the fact； did
not seek to prove it； but tried to explain to herself； rather
than to Katharine； her motives in making the statement。
She had nerved herself to do what some large and imperious
instinct demanded her doing； she had been swept
on the breast of a wave beyond her reckoning。
“I’ve told you；” she said； “because I want you to help
me。 I don’t want to be jealous of you。 And I am—I’m
fearfully jealous。 The only way； I thought； was to tell
you。”
She hesitated； and groped in her endeavor to make her
feelings clear to herself。
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“If I tell you； then we can talk； and when I’m jealous； I
can tell you。 And if I’m tempted to do something frightfully
mean； I can tell you； you could make me tell you。 I
find talking so difficult； but loneliness frightens me。 I
should shut it up in my mind。 Yes； that’s what I’m afraid
of。 Going about with something in my mind all my life
that never changes。 I find it so difficult to change。 When
I think a thing’s wrong I never stop thinking it wrong；
and Ralph was quite right； I see； when he said that there’s
no such thing as right and wrong； no such thing； I mean；
as judging people—”
“Ralph Denham said that？” said Katharine； with considerable
indignation。 In order to have produced such suffering
in Mary； it seemed to her that he must have behaved
with extreme callousness。 It seemed to her that he had
discarded the friendship； when it suited his convenience
to do so； with some falsely philosophical theory which
made his conduct all the worse。 She was going on to express
herself thus； had not Mary at once interrupted her。
“No； no；” she said； “you don’t understand。 If there’s
any fault it’s mine entirely； after all； if one chooses to
run risks—”
Her voice faltered into silence。 It was borne in upon
her how pletely in running her risk she had lost her
prize； lost it so entirely that she had no longer the right；
in talking of Ralph； to presume that her knowledge of
him supplanted all other knowledge。 She no longer pletely
possessed her love； since his share in it was doubtful；
and now； to make things yet more bitter； her clear
vision of the way to face life was rendered tremulous and
uncertain； because another was witness of it。 Feeling her
desire for the old unshared intimacy too great to be borne
without tears； she rose； walked to the farther end of the
room； held the curtains apart； and stood there mastered
for a moment。 The grief itself was not ignoble； the sting
of it lay in the fact that she had been led to this act of
treachery against herself。 Trapped； cheated； robbed； first
by Ralph and then by Katharine； she seemed all dissolved
in humiliation； and bereft of anything she could call her
own。 Tears of weakness welled up and rolled down her
cheeks。 But tears； at least； she could control； and would
this instant； and then； turning； she would face Katharine；
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Night and Day
and retrieve what could be retrieved of the collapse of
her courage。
She turned。 Katharine had not moved； she was leaning
a little forward in her chair and looking into the fire。
Something in the attitude reminded Mary of Ralph。 So he
would sit； leaning forward； looking rather fixedly in front
of him； while his mind went far away； exploring； speculating；
until he broke off with his； “Well； Mary？”—and
the silence； that had been so full of romance to her； gave
way to the most delightful talk that she had ever known。
Something unfamiliar in the pose of the silent figure；
something still； solemn； significant about it； made her
hold her breath。 She paused。 Her thoughts were without
bitterness。 She was surprised by her own quiet and confidence。
She came back silently； and sat once more by
Katharine’s side。 Mary had no wish to speak。 In the silence
she seemed to have lost her isolation； she was at
once the sufferer and the pitiful spectator of