later； living things endowed with sex； and pores； and
susceptibilities which adapted themselves by all manner
of ingenious devices to live and beget life； and could be
fashioned squat or tapering； flamecolored or pale； pure
or spotted； by processes which might reveal the secrets
of human existence。 Denham spoke with increasing ardor
of a hobby which had long been his in secret。 No discourse
could have worn a more wele sound in
Katharine’s ears。 For weeks she had heard nothing that
made such pleasant music in her mind。 It wakened echoes
in all those remote fastnesses of her being where
loneliness had brooded so long undisturbed。
She wished he would go on for ever talking of plants；
and showing her how science felt not quite blindly for
the law that ruled their endless variations。 A law that
might be inscrutable but was certainly omnipotent appealed
to her at the moment； because she could find
nothing like it in possession of human lives。 Circumstances
had long forced her； as they force most women in the
flower of youth； to consider； painfully and minutely； all
that part of life which is conspicuously without order；
she had had to consider moods and wishes； degrees of
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liking or disliking； and their effect upon the destiny of
people dear to her； she had been forced to deny herself
any contemplation of that other part of life where thought
constructs a destiny which is independent of human beings。
As Denham spoke； she followed his words and considered
their bearing with an easy vigor which spoke of a
capacity long hoarded and unspent。 The very trees and
the green merging into the blue distance became symbols
of the vast external world which recks so little of the
happiness； of the marriages or deaths of individuals。 In
order to give her examples of what he was saying； Denham
led the way； first to the Rock Garden； and then to the
Orchid House。
For him there was safety in the direction which the talk
had taken。 His emphasis might e from feelings more
personal than those science roused in him； but it was
disguised； and naturally he found it easy to expound and
explain。 Nevertheless； when he saw Katharine among the
orchids； her beauty strangely emphasized by the fantastic
plants； which seemed to peer and gape at her from
striped hoods and fleshy throats； his ardor for botany
waned； and a more plex feeling replaced it。 She fell
silent。 The orchids seemed to suggest absorbing reflections。
In defiance of the rules she stretched her ungloved
hand and touched one。 The sight of the rubies upon her
finger affected him so disagreeably that he started and
turned away。 But next moment he controlled himself； he
looked at her taking in one strange shape after another
with the contemplative； considering gaze of a person who
sees not exactly what is before him； but gropes in regions
that lie beyond it。 The faraway look entirely lacked
selfconsciousness。 Denham doubted whether she remembered
his presence。 He could recall himself； of course； by
a word or a movement—but why？ She was happier thus。
She needed nothing that he could give her。 And for him；
too； perhaps； it was best to keep aloof； only to know that
she existed； to preserve what he already had—perfect；
remote； and unbroken。 Further； her still look； standing
among the orchids in that hot atmosphere； strangely illustrated
some scene that he had imagined in his room
at home。 The sight； mingling with his recollection； kept
him silent when the door was shut and they were walking
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Virginia Woolf
on again。
But though she did not speak； Katharine had an uneasy
sense that silence on her part was selfishness。 It was selfish
of her to continue； as she wished to do； a discussion of
subjects not remotely connected with any human beings。
She roused herself to consider their exact position upon
the turbulent map of the emotions。 Oh yes—it was a question
whether Ralph Denham should live in the country and
write a book； it was getting late； they must waste no more
time； Cassandra arrived tonight for dinner； she flinched
and roused herself； and discovered that she ought to be
holding something in her hands。 But they were empty。 She
held them out with an exclamation。
“I’ve left my bag somewhere—where？” The gardens had
no points of the pass； so far as she was concerned。
She had been walking for the most part on grass—that
was all she knew。 Even the road to the Orchid House had
now split itself into three。 But there was no bag in the
Orchid House。 It must； therefore； have been left upon the
seat。 They retraced their steps in the preoccupied manner
of people who have to think about something that is
lost。 What did this bag look like？ What did it contain？
“A purse—a ticket—some letters； papers；” Katharine
counted； being more agitated as she recalled the list。
Denham went on quickly in advance of her； and she heard
him shout that he had found it before she reached the
seat。 In order to make sure that all was safe she spread
the contents on her knee。 It was a queer collection；
Denham thought； gazing with the deepest interest。 Loose
gold coins were tangled in a narrow strip of lace； there
were letters which somehow suggested the extreme of
intimacy； there were two or three keys； and lists of missions
against which crosses were set at intervals。 But
she did not seem satisfied until she had made sure of a
certain paper so folded that Denham could not judge what
it contained。 In her relief and gratitude she began at
once to say that she had been thinking over what Denham
had told her of his plans。
He cut her short。 “Don’t let’s discuss that dreary business。”
“But I thought—”
“It’s a dreary business。 I ought never to have bothered
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Night and Day
you—”
“Have you decided； then？”
He made an impatient sound。 “It’s not a thing that
matters。”
She could only say rather flatly； “Oh！”
“I mean it matters to me； but it matters to no one else。
Anyhow；” he continued； more amiably； “I see no reason
why you should be bothered with other people’s nuisances。”
She supposed that she had let him see too clearly her
weariness of this side of life。
“I’m afraid I’ve been absentminded；” she began； remembering
how often William had brought this charge
against her。
“You have a good deal to make you absentminded；” he
replied。
“Yes；” she replied； flushing。 “No；” she contradicted herself。
“Nothing particular； I mean。 But I was thinking about
plants。 I was enjoying myself。 In fact； I’ve seldom enjoyed
an afternoon more。 But I want to hear what you’ve
settled； if you don’t mind telling me。”
“Oh； it’s all settled；” he replied。 “I’m going to this infernal
cottage to write a worthless book。”
“How I envy you；” she replied； with the utmost sincerity。
“Well； cottages are to be had for fifteen shillings a
week。”
“Cottages are to be had—yes；” she replied。 “The question
is—” She checked herself。 “Two rooms are all I shoul