of his own； and there are any number of sisters and brothers
dependent on him。”
“Ah； he has a mother？” Mrs。 Hilbery inquired。
“Yes。 Rather a finelooking old lady； with white hair。”
Katharine began to describe her visit； and soon Mrs。
Hilbery elicited the facts that not only was the house of
excruciating ugliness； which Ralph bore without plaint；
but that it was evident that every one depended on him；
and he had a room at the top of the house； with a wonderful
view over London； and a rook。
“A wretched old bird in a corner； with half its feathers
out；” she said； with a tenderness in her voice that seemed
to miserate the sufferings of humanity while resting
assured in the capacity of Ralph Denham to alleviate them；
so that Mrs。 Hilbery could not help exclaiming：
“But； Katharine； you are in love！” at which Katharine
flushed； looked startled； as if she had said something
that she ought not to have said； and shook her head。
Hastily Mrs。 Hilbery asked for further details of this
extraordinary house； and interposed a few speculations
about the meeting between Keats and Coleridge in a lane；
which tided over the disfort of the moment； and drew
Katharine on to further descriptions and indiscretions。 In
truth； she found an extraordinary pleasure in being thus
free to talk to some one who was equally wise and equally
benignant； the mother of her earliest childhood； whose
silence seemed to answer questions that were never asked。
Mrs。 Hilbery listened without making any remark for a
considerable time。 She seemed to draw her conclusions
rather by looking at her daughter than by listening to
her； and； if crossexamined； she would probably have given
a highly inaccurate version of Ralph Denham’s lifehistory
except that he was penniless； fatherless； and lived
at Highgate—all of which was much in his favor。 But by
means of these furtive glances she had assured herself
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Night and Day
that Katharine was in a state which gave her； alternately；
the most exquisite pleasure and the most profound alarm。
She could not help ejaculating at last：
“It’s all done in five minutes at a Registry Office nowadays；
if you think the Church service a little florid—which
it is； though there are noble things in it。”
“But we don’t want to be married；” Katharine replied
emphatically； and added； “Why； after all； isn’t it perfectly
possible to live together without being married？”
Again Mrs。 Hilbery looked disposed； and； in her
trouble； took up the sheets which were lying upon the
table； and began turning them over this way and that；
and muttering to herself as she glanced：
“A plus B minus C equals ‘x y z’。 It’s so dreadfully ugly；
Katharine。 That’s what I feel—so dreadfully ugly。”
Katharine took the sheets from her mother’s hand and
began shuffling them absentmindedly together； for her
fixed gaze seemed to show that her thoughts were intent
upon some other matter。
“Well； I don’t know about ugliness；” she said at length。
“But he doesn’t ask it of you？” Mrs。 Hilbery exclaimed。
“Not that grave young man with the steady brown eyes？”
“He doesn’t ask anything—we neither of us ask anything。”
“If I could help you； Katharine； by the memory of what
I felt—”
“Yes； tell me what you felt。”
Mrs。 Hilbery； her eyes growing blank； peered down the
enormously long corridor of days at the far end of which
the little figures of herself and her husband appeared
fantastically attired； clasping hands upon a moonlit beach；
with roses swinging in the dusk。
“We were in a little boat going out to a ship at night；”
she began。 “The sun had set and the moon was rising
over our heads。 There were lovely silver lights upon the
waves and three green lights upon the steamer in the
middle of the bay。 Your father’s head looked so grand
against the mast。 It was life； it was death。 The great sea
was round us。 It was the voyage for ever and ever。”
The ancient fairytale fell roundly and harmoniously upon
Katharine’s ears。 Yes； there was the enormous space of
the sea； there were the three green lights upon the
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steamer； the cloaked figures climbed up on deck。 And so；
voyaging over the green and purple waters； past the cliffs
and the sandy lagoons and through pools crowded with
the masts of ships and the steeples of churches—here
they were。 The river seemed to have brought them and
deposited them here at this precise point。 She looked
admiringly at her mother； that ancient voyager。
“Who knows；” exclaimed Mrs。 Hilbery； continuing her
reveries； “where we are bound for； or why； or who has
sent us； or what we shall find—who knows anything；
except that love is our faith—love—” she crooned； and
the soft sound beating through the dim words was heard
by her daughter as the breaking of waves solemnly in
order upon the vast shore that she gazed upon。 She would
have been content for her mother to repeat that word
almost indefinitely—a soothing word when uttered by
another； a riveting together of the shattered fragments
of the world。 But Mrs。 Hilbery； instead of repeating the
word love； said pleadingly：
“And you won’t think those ugly thoughts again； will
you； Katharine？” at which words the ship which Katharine
had been considering seemed to put into harbor and have
done with its seafaring。 Yet she was in great need； if not
exactly of sympathy； of some form of advice； or； at least；
of the opportunity of setting forth her problems before a
third person so as to renew them in her own eyes。
“But then；” she said； ignoring the difficult problem of
ugliness； “you knew you were in love； but we’re different。
It seems；” she continued； frowning a little as she tried to
fix the difficult feeling； “as if something came to an end
suddenly—gave out—faded—an illusion—as if when we
think we’re in love we make it up—we imagine what
doesn’t exist。 That’s why it’s impossible that we should
ever marry。 Always to be finding the other an illusion；
and going off and forgetting about them； never to be
certain that you cared； or that he wasn’t caring for some
one not you at all； the horror of changing from one state
to the other； being happy one moment and miserable the
next—that’s the reason why we can’t possibly marry。 At
the same time；” she continued； “we can’t live without
each other； because—” Mrs。 Hilbery waited patiently for
the sentence to be pleted； but Katharine fell silent
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Night and Day
and fingered her sheet of figures。
“We have to have faith in our vision；” Mrs。 Hilbery resumed；
glancing at the figures； which distressed her
vaguely； and had some connection in her mind with the
household accounts； “otherwise； as you say—” She cast
a lightning glance into the depths of disillusionment which
were； perhaps； not altogether unknown to her。
“Believe me； Katharine； it’s the same for every one—
for me； too—for your father；” she said earnestly； and
sighed。 They looked together into the abyss and； as the
elder of the two； she recovered herself first and asked：
“But where is Ralph？ Why isn’t he here to see me？”
Katharine’s expression changed instantly。
“Because he’s not allowed to e here；” she replied
bitterly。
Mrs。 Hilbery brushed this aside。
“Would there be time to send for him before luncheon？”
she asked。
Katharine looked at her as if； indeed； she were some
magician。 Once more she felt that instead of being a
grown woman； used to advise and mand； she was
only a foot or two raised above the long grass and the
little flowers and entirely dependent upon the figure of
indefinite size whose head went up into the sky； whose
hand was in hers； for guidance。
“I’m not happy without him；” she said simply。
Mrs。 Hilbery nodded her head in a manner which indicated
plete understanding； and the immediate conception
of certain plans for the future。 She swept up her
flowers； breathed in their sweetness； and； humming a
little song about a miller’s daughter； left the room。
The case upon which Ralph Denham was engaged that
afternoon was not apparently receiving his full attention；
and yet the affairs of the late John Leake of Dublin
were sufficiently confused to need all the care that a
solicitor could bestow upon them； if the widow Leake
and the five Leake children of tender age were to receive
any pittance at all。 But the appeal to Ralph’s humanity
had little chance of being heard today； he was no longer
a model of concentration。 The partition so carefully erected
between the different sections of his life had been broken
down； with the result that though his eyes were fixed
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upon the last Will and Testament； he saw through the
page a certain drawingroom in Cheyne Walk。
He tried every device that had proved effective in the
past for keeping up the partitions of the mind； until he
could decently go home； but a little to his alarm he found
himself assailed so persistently； as if from outside； by
Katharine； that he launched forth desperately into an
imaginary interview with her。 She obliterated a bookcase
full of law reports； and the corners and lines of the room
underwent a curious softening of outline like that which
sometimes makes a room unfamiliar at the moment of
waking from sleep。 By degrees； a pulse or stress began to
beat at regular intervals in his mind； heaping his thoughts
into waves to which words fitted themselves； and without
much consciousness of what he was doing； he began
to write on a sheet of draft paper what had the appearance
of a poem lacking several words in each line。 Not
many lines had been set down； however； before he threw
away his pen as violently as if that were responsible for
his misdeeds； and tore the paper into many separate
pieces。 This was a sign that Katharine had asserted her
self and put to him a remark that could not be met poetically。
Her remark was entirely destructive of poetry； since
it was