This is a LibriVox recording while LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, please visit LibriVox.org. Night and Day by Virginia Woolf. Chapter 15 The village of Disham lies somewhere on the rolling piece of cultivated ground in the neighborhood of Lincoln, not so far inland that a sound bringing rumors of the sea can be heard on summer nights or when the winter storms fling the waves upon the long beach. So large is the church, and in particular the church tower, in comparison with the little street of cottages which compose the village, that the traveler is apt to cast his mind back to the Middle Ages, as the only time when so much piety could have been kept alive. So great a trust in the church can surely not belong to our day, and he goes on to conjecture that every one of the villagers has reached the extreme limit of human life. Such are the reflections of the superficial stranger, and his sight of the population as it is represented by two or three men hoeing in a turnip field, a small child carrying a jug, and a young woman shaking a piece of carpet outside her cottage door will not lead him to see anything very much out of keeping with the Middle Ages in the village of Disham as it is today. These people, though they seem young enough, look so angular and so crude that they remind him of the little pictures painted by monks in the capital letters of their manuscripts. He only half understands what they say, and speaks very loud and clearly, as though, indeed, his voice had to carry through a hundred years or more before it reached them. He would have a far better chance of understanding some dweller in Paris or Rome, Berlin or Madrid than these countrymen of his who have lived for the last two thousand years, not two hundred miles from the city of London. The rectory stands about half a mile beyond the village. It is a large house and has been growing steadily for some centuries round the Great Kitchen with its narrow red tiles, as the rector would point out to his guests on the first night of their arrival, taking his brass candlestick, and bidding them mine the steps up and the steps down, and notice the immense thickness of the walls, the old beams across the ceiling, the staircases as steep as ladders, and the attics, their deep tent-like roofs in which swallows bread, and once a white owl. But nothing very interesting or very beautiful had resulted from the different additions made by the different rectors. The house, however, was surrounded by a garden in which the rector took considerable pride. The lawn, which fronted the drawing-room windows, was a rich and uniform green, unspotted by a single daisy, and on the other side of it, two straight paths led past beds of tall, standing flowers to a charming, grassy walk where the reverend Wyndham Dashit would pace up and down at the same hour every morning with a sundial to measure the time for him. As often as not, he carried a book in his hand, into which he would glance, then shut it up, and repeat the rest of the ode from memory. He had most of horrors by heart, and had gotten to the habit of connecting this particular walk with certain odes which he repeated duly, at the same time noting the condition of his flowers, and stooping now and again to pick any that were withered or overblown. On wet days, such was the power of habit over him, he rose from his chair at the same hour and paced his study for the same length of time, pausing now and then to straighten some book in the bookcase, or alter the position of the two brass crucifixes standing upon carns of serpentine stone upon the mantelpiece. His children had a great respect for him, credited him with far more learning than he actually possessed, and saw that his habits were not interfered with, if possible. Like most people who do things methodically, the rector himself had more strength of purpose and power of self-sacrifice than of intellect or of originality. On cold and windy nights he rode off to visit sick people who might need him without a murmur, and by virtue of doing dull duties punctually, he was much employed upon committees and local boards and councils, and at this period of his life, he was sixty-eight, he was beginning to be commiserated by tender old ladies for the extreme lenness of his person, which, they said, was worn out upon the roads when it should have been resting before a comfortable fire. His elder daughter, Elizabeth, lived with him and managed the house, and already much resembled him in dry sincerity and methodical habit of mind. Of the two sons, one, Richard, was an estate agent, the other, Christopher, was reading for the bar. At Christmas, naturally, they met together, and for a month passed, the arrangement of the Christmas week had been much in the mind of mistress and maid, who prided themselves every year more confidently upon the excellence of their equipment. The late Mrs. Datchett had left an excellent cupboard of linen, to which Elizabeth had succeeded at the age of nineteen when her mother died, and the charge of the family rested upon the shoulders of the eldest daughter. She kept a fine flock of yellow chickens, sketched a little, certain rose-trees in the garden were committed specially to her care, and what with the care of the house, the care of the chickens, and the care of the poor, she scarcely knew what it was to have an idle minute. An extreme rectitude of mind, rather than any gift, gave her weight in the family. When Mary wrote to say that she had asked Ralph Denham to stay with them, she added, out of deference to Elizabeth's character, that he was very nice, though rather queer, and had been overworking himself in London. No doubt Elizabeth would conclude that Ralph was in love with her, but there could be no doubt, either, that not a word of this would be spoken by either of them, unless, indeed, some catastrophe made mention of it unavoidable. Mary went down to Disham without knowing whether Ralph intended to come, but two or three days before Christmas she received a telegram from Ralph, asking her to take a room for him in the village. This was followed by a letter explaining that he hoped he might have his meals with them, but quiet, essential for his work, made it necessary to sleep out. Mary was walking in the garden with Elizabeth and inspecting the roses when the letter arrived. But that's absurd, said Elizabeth decidedly when the plan was explained to her. There are five spare rooms, even when the boys are here. Besides, he wouldn't get a room in the village, and he oughtn't to work if he's overworked. But perhaps he doesn't want to see so much of us, Mary thought to herself, although outwardly she assented and felt grateful to Elizabeth for supporting her in what was, of course, her desire.  If Ralph were here, he'd find this very dull, Mary thought, with a little shiver of irritation, which led her to place her rose the wrong way in the basket. Meanwhile they had come to the end of the path, and while Elizabeth straightened some flowers and made them stand upright with their fence of string, Mary looked at her father, who was pacing up and down, with his hand behind his back and his head bowed in meditation. Obeying an impulse which sprang from some desire to interrupt this methodical marching, Mary stepped onto the grass-walk and put her hand on his arm. A flower for your button-hole father, she said, presenting a rose. A deer? said Mr. Dashett, taking the flower, and holding it at an angle which suited his bad eyesight, without pausing in his walk. Where does his fellow come from? One of Elizabeth's roses? I hope you asked her leave. Elizabeth doesn't like having her roses picked without her leave. And quite right, too. He had a habit, Mary remarked, and she had never noticed it so clearly before, of letting his sentences tail away in a continuous murmur, whereupon he passed into a state of abstraction, presumed by his children to indicate some train of thought too profound for utterance. What? said Mary, interrupting for the first time in her life, perhaps, when the murmur ceased. He made no reply. She knew very well that he wished to be left alone, but she stuck to his side, much as she might have stuck to some sleep-walker, whom she thought it right, gradually too awakened. She could think of nothing to rouse him with, except, the garden's looking very nice, Father. Yes, yes, yes, said Mr. Dashit, running his words together in the same abstracted manner, and sinking his head yet lower upon his breast. And suddenly, as they turned their steps to retrace their way, he jerked out. The traffic's much increased, you know, more rolling stock needed already, for the trucks went on yesterday by the twelve-fifteen, counted them myself. They've taken off the nine-three and given us an eight-thirty instead, suits the businessmen, you know. You came by the old three-ten yesterday, I suppose. She said, yes, as he seemed to wish for a reply, and then he looked at his watch and made off down the path towards the house, holding the rose at the same angle in front of him. Elizabeth had gone round to the side of the house where the chickens lived, so that Mary found herself alone, holding Ralph's letter in her hand. She was uneasy. She had put off the season for thinking things out very successfully. And now that Ralph was actually coming the next day, she could only wonder how her family would impress him. It's likely that her father would discuss the train service with him. Elizabeth would be bright and sensible, and always leaving the room to give messages to the servants. Her brothers had already said that they would give him a day's shooting. She was content to leave the problem of Ralph's relations to the young men obscure, trusting that they would find some common ground of masculine agreement. But what would he think of her? Would he see that she was different from the rest of the family? She devised a plan for taking him to her sitting-room, and artfully leading the talk towards the English poets, who now occupied prominent places in her little bookcase. Moreover, she might give him to understand, privately, that she too thought her family a queer one. Queer, yes, but not dull. That was the rock past which she was bent on steering him. And she thought how she would draw his attention to Edward's passion for Jarax, and the enthusiasm which led Christopher to collect moss and butterflies, though he was now twenty-two. Perhaps Elizabeth's sketching, if the fruits were invisible, might lend color to the general effect which she wished to produce of a family, eccentric and limited, perhaps, but not dull. Edward, she perceived, was rolling the lawn for the sake of exercise, and the sight of him with pink cheeks, bright little brown eyes, and a general resemblance to a clumsy young cart horse in its winter coat of dusty brown hair, made Mary violently ashamed of her ambitious scheming. She loved him precisely as he was, she loved them all, and as she walked by his side, up and down, and down and up, her strong moral sense administered a sound-drubbing to the vain and romantic element aroused in her by the mere thought of Ralph. She felt quite certain that, for good or for bad, she was very like the rest of her family. Sitting in the corner of a third-class railway carriage on the afternoon of the following day, Ralph made several inquiries of a commercial traveller in the opposite corner. They centred round a village called Lampshire, not three miles he understood from Lincoln. Was there a big house in Lampshire, he asked, inhabited by a gentleman of the name of Ottway? The traveller knew nothing, but rolled the name of Ottway on his tongue reflectively, and the sound of it gratified Ralph amazingly. It gave him an excuse to take a letter from his pocket in order to verify the address. Stoggenhaus, Lampshire, Lincoln, he read out. You'll find somebody to direct you at Lincoln, said the man, and Ralph had to confess that he was not bound there this very evening. I've got to walk over from Disham, he said, and in the heart of him could not help marvelling at the pleasure which he derived from making a bagman in a train, believed what he himself did not believe. For the letter, though signed by Catherine's father, contained no invitation or warrant for thinking that Catherine herself was there. The only fact it disclosed was that for a fortnight this address would be Mr. Hilberry's address, but when he looked out of the window it was of her, he thought. She, too, had seen these grey fields, and perhaps she was there where the trees ran up a slope, and one yellow light shone now and then went out again at the foot of the hill. The light shone in the windows of an old grey house, he thought. He lay back in his corner and forgot the commercial traveller altogether. The process of visualizing Catherine stopped short at the old grey manor house. Instinct warned him that if he went much further with this process, reality would soon force itself in. He could not altogether neglect the figure of William Rodney. Since the day when he had heard from Catherine's lips of her engagement, he had refrained from investing his dream of her with the details of real life. But the light of the late afternoon glowed green behind the straight trees and became a symbol of her. The light seemed to expand his heart. She brooded over the grey fields and was with him now in the railway carriage, thoughtful, silent, and infinitely tender. But the vision pressed too close and must be dismissed, for the train was slackening. Its abrupt jerks shook him wide awake, and he saw Mary Dashett, a sturdy russet figure with a dash of scarlet about it, as the carriage slid down the platform. A tall youth who accompanied her shook him by the hand, took his bag, and led the way without uttering one articulate word. Never our voice is so beautiful as on a winter's evening when dusk almost hides the body, and they seem to issue from nothingness with a note of intimacy seldom heard by day. Such an edge was there in Mary's voice when she greeted him. About her seemed to hang the mist of the winter hedges and the clear red of the bramble leaves. He felt himself at one stepping onto the firm ground of an entirely different world, but he did not allow himself to yield to the pleasure of it directly. They gave him his choice of driving with Edward or of walking home across the fields with Mary, not a shorter way, they explained, but Mary thought it a nicer way. He decided to walk with her, being conscious, indeed, that he got comfort from her presence. What could be the cause of her cheerfulness, he wondered, half ironically and half enviously, as the pony cart started briskly away and the dusk's squam between their eyes and the tall form of Edward standing up to drive with the reins in one hand and the whip in the other. People from the village who had been to the market town were climbing into their gigs or setting off home down the road together in little parties. Many salutations were addressed to Mary who shouted back with the addition of the speaker's name, but soon she led the way over a style and along a path worn slightly darker than the dim green surrounding it. In front of them the sky now showed itself of a reddish-yellow, like a slice of some semi-lucent stone behind which a lamp burnt while a fringe of black trees with distinct branches stood against the light which was obscured in one direction by a hump of earth. In all other directions the land lying flat to the very verge of the sky. One of the swift and noiseless birds of the winter's night seemed to follow them across the field, circling a few feet in front of them, disappearing and returning again and again. Mary had gone this walk many hundred times in the course of her life, generally alone, and at different stages the ghosts of past moods would flood her mind with a whole scene or train of thought merely at the sight of three trees from a particular angle or at the sound of the pheasant clocking in the ditch. But tonight the circumstances were strong enough to oust all other scenes and she looked at the field and the trees with an involuntary intensity as if they had no such associations for her. Well, Ralph, she said, this is better than Lincoln's infields, isn't it? Look, there's a bird for you. Oh, you've brought glasses, have you? Edward and Christopher mean to make you shoot. Can you shoot? I shouldn't think so. Look here, you must explain, said Ralph. Who are these young men? Where am I staying? You're staying with us, of course, she said boldly. Of course you're staying with us. You don't mind coming, do you? If I had, I shouldn't have come, he said sturdily. They walked on in silence. Mary took care not to break it for a time. She wished Ralph to feel, as she thought he would, all the fresh delights of the earth and air. She was right. In a moment he expressed his pleasure, much to her comfort. This is the sort of country I thought you'd live in, Mary. He said, pushing his hat back on his head and looking about him. Real country. No gentlemen's seats. He snuffed the air and felt more keenly than he had done for many weeks the pleasure of owning a body. Now we have to find our way through a hedge, said Mary, and the gap of the hedge Ralph tore up a poacher's wire set across the hole to trap a rabbit. It's quite right that they should poach, said Mary, watching him tugging at the wire. I wonder whether it was Alfred Duggins or Sid Rankin. How can one expect them not to, when they only make fifteen shillings a week? Fifteen shillings a week, she repeated, coming out on the other side of the hedge and running her fingers through her hair to rid herself of a bramble which had attached itself to her. I could live on fifteen shillings a week, easily. Could you, said Ralph? I don't believe you could, he added. Oh yes, they have a cottage thrown in, and a garden where one can grow vegetables. It wouldn't be half bad, said Mary, with a soberness which impressed Ralph very much. But you'd get tired of it, he urged. I sometimes think it's the only thing one would never get tired of, she replied. The idea of a cottage where one grew one's own vegetables, and lived on fifteen shillings a week, filled Ralph with an extraordinary sense of rest and satisfaction. But wouldn't it be on a main road, or next door to a woman with six squalling children, who'd always be hanging her washing out to dry across your garden? The cottage I'm thinking of stands by itself in a little orchard. And what about the suffrage, he asked, attempting sarcasm. Oh, there are other things in the world besides the suffrage, she replied, in an offhand manner which was slightly mysterious. Ralph fell silent. It annoyed him that she should have plans of which he knew nothing. But he felt that he had no right to press her further. His mind settled upon the idea of life in a country cottage. Conceivably, for he could not examine into it now, here lay a tremendous possibility, a solution of many problems. He struck his stick upon the earth, and stared through the dust at the shape of the country. Do you know the points of the compass? he asked. Well, of course, said Mary. What do you take me for, a cockney like you? She then told him exactly where the north lay, and where the south. It's my native land this, she said. I could smell my way about it blindfold. As if to prove this boast, she walked a little quicker, so that Ralph found it difficult to keep pace with her. At the same time he felt drawn to her as he had never been before, partly no doubt because she was more independent of him than in London, and seemed to be attached firmly to a world where he had no place at all. Now the dust had fallen to such an extent that he had to follow her implicitly, and even lean his hand on her shoulder when they jumped a bank into a very narrow lane. And he felt curiously shy of her when she began to shout through her hands at a spot of light which swung upon the mist in a neighboring field. He shouted, too, and the light stood still. That's Christopher coming already and gone to feed his chickens, she said. She introduced him to Ralph, who could see only a tall figure in Gators, rising from a fluttering circle of soft feathery bodies, upon whom the light fell in wavering discs, calling out now a bright spot of yellow, now one of greenish black, and scarlet.  He had removed his overcoat by the time they sat round the dinner table, but nevertheless he looked very strange among the others. A country life and breeding had preserved in them all a look which Mary hesitated to call either innocent or youthful, as she compared them, now sitting round in an oval, softly illuminated by candlelight. And yet it was something of the kind, yes, even in the case of the rector himself. Though superficially marked with lines his face was a clear pink, and his blue eyes had the long-sighted, peaceful expression of eyes seeking the turn of the road, or a distant light through rain, or the darkness of winter. She looked at Ralph. He had never appeared to her more concentrated and full of purpose, as if behind his forehead were masks so much experience that he could choose for himself which part of it he would display and which part he would keep to himself. Compared with that dark and stern countenance her brother's faces bending low over their soup-plates were mere circles of pink, unmolded flesh. You came by the three ten, Mr. Denham? said the Reverend Wyndham Dashit, tucking his napkin into his collar, so that almost the whole of his body was concealed by a large white diamond. They treat us very well on the whole. Considering the increase of traffic, they treat us very well indeed. I have the curiosity sometimes to count the trucks on the good strains, and they're well over fifty, well over fifty at this season of the year. The old gentleman had been roused agreeably by the presence of this attentive and well-informed young man, as was evident by the care with which he finished the last words in his sentences and his slight exaggeration in the number of trucks on the trains. Indeed the chief burden of the talk fell upon him, and he sustained it tonight in a manner which cost his sons to look at him admiringly now and then, for they felt shy of Denham, and were glad not to have to talk themselves. The store of information about the present and past of this particular corner of Lincolnshire, which old Mr. Dashit produced really surprised his children, for though they knew of its existence they had forgotten its extent, as they might have forgotten the amount of family plates stored in the plate chest until some rare celebration brought it forth. After dinner, Parrish Business took director to his study, and Mary proposed that they should sit in the kitchen. It's not the kitchen, really, Elizabeth hastened to explain to her a guest, but we call it so. It's the nicest room in the house, said Edward. It's got the old rest by the side of the fireplace, where the men hung their guns, said Elizabeth leading the way, with a tall brass candlestick in her hand down a passage. Show Mr. Denham the steps, Christopher. When the ecclesiastical commissioners were here two years ago, they said this was the most interesting part of the house. These narrow bricks prove that it is five hundred years old, five hundred years, I think they may have said six. She too felt an impulse to exaggerate the age of the bricks, as her father had exaggerated the number of trucks. A big lamp hung down from the center of the ceiling, and together with a fine log fire illuminated a large and lofty room, with rafters running from wall to wall. A floor of red tiles and a substantial fireplace built up of those narrow red bricks, which were said to be five hundred years old. A few rugs and a sprinkling of armchairs had made this ancient kitchen into a sitting-room. Elizabeth, after pointing out the gun racks and the hooks for smoking hams, and other evidence of incontestable age, and explaining that Mary had had the idea of turning the room into a sitting-room, otherwise it was used for hanging out the wash and for the men to change in after shooting, considered that she had done her duty as hostess, and sat down in an upright chair directly beneath the lamp beside a very long and narrow oak table.  In a few minutes a smile came to her face, and remained there for the rest of the evening. Will you come out shooting with us tomorrow? said Christopher, who had on the whole, formed a favourable impression of his sister's friend. I won't shoot, but I'll come with you, said Ralph. Don't you care about shooting? asked Edward, whose suspicions were not yet laid to rest. I've never shot in my life, said Ralph, turning and looking him in the face, because he was not sure how this confession would be received. You wouldn't have much chance in London, I suppose, said Christopher, but won't you find it rather dull just watching us? I shall watch the birds, Ralph replied with a smile. I can show you the place for watching birds, said Edward, if that's what you like doing. I know a fellow who comes down from London about this time every year to watch them. It's a great place for the wild geese and the ducks. I've heard this man say that it's one of the best places for birds in the country. It's about the best place in England, Ralph replied. They were all gratified by this praise of their native county, and Mary now had the pleasure of hearing these short questions and answers lose their undertone of suspicious inspection so far as her brothers were concerned and develop into a genuine conversation about the habits of birds which afterwards turned to a discussion as to the habits of solicitors in which it was scarcely necessary for her to take part. She was pleased to see that her brothers liked Ralph, to the extent, that is, of wishing to secure his good opinion. Whether or not he liked them, it was impossible to tell, from his kind but experienced manner. Now and then she fed the fire with a fresh log, and as the room filled with the fine dry heat of burning wood, they all, with the exception of Elizabeth, who was outside the range of the fire, felt less and less anxious about the effect they were making, and more and more inclined for sleep. A vehement scratching was heard on the door. Piper, oh, damn, I shall have to get up! murmured Christopher. It's not Piper, it's Pitch, Edward grunted. All the same, I shall have to get up! Christopher grumbled. He let in the dog and stood for a moment by the door, which opened into the garden to revive himself with a drop of the black starlit air.  Mary cried, aft turning in her chair. We shall have a fine day tomorrow, said Christopher with complacency, and he sat himself on the floor at her feet and lent his back against her knees and stretched out his long stocking legs to the fire, all signs that he felt no longer any restraint at the presence of the stranger. He was the youngest of the family and Mary's favorite, partly because his character resembled hers as Edward's character resembled Elizabeth's. She made her knees a comfortable rest for his head and ran her fingers through his hair. I should like Mary to stroke my head like that, Ralph thought to himself suddenly, and he looked at Christopher almost affectionately for calling forth his sister's caresses. Instantly he thought of Catherine, the thought of her being surrounded by the spaces of night and the open air, and Mary, watching him, saw the lines upon his forehead suddenly deepen. He stretched out an arm and placed a log upon the fire, constraining himself to fit it carefully into the frail red scaffolding and also to limit his thoughts to this one room. Mary had ceased to stroke her brother's head, he moved it impatiently between her knees, and much as though he were a child she began once more to part the thick reddish colored locks this way and that. But a far stronger passion had taken possession of her soul than any her brother could inspire in her, and seeing Ralph's change of expression, her hand almost automatically continued its movements while her mind plunged desperately for some hold on slippery banks. End of Chapter 15 By Virginia Woolf Chapter 16 Into that same black night, almost indeed into the very same layer of starlit air, Catherine Hilbury was now gazing, although not with a view to the prospects of a fine day for duck shooting on the morrow. She was walking up and down a gravel path in the garden of Stogdon House, her sight of the heavens being partially intercepted by the light leafless hoops of a pergola. Thus a spray of Clematis would completely obscure Cassiopeia, or blot out with its black pattern myriads of miles of the Milky Way. At the end of the pergola, however, there was a stone seat, from which the sky could be seen completely, swept clear of any earthly interruption, save to the right, indeed, where a line of elm trees was beautifully sprinkled with stars, and a low stable building had a full drop of quivering silver just issuing from the mouth of the chimney. It was a moonless night, but the light of the stars was sufficient to show the outline of the young woman's form, and the shape of her face gazing gravely, indeed almost sternly, into the sky. She had come out into the winter's night, which was mild enough, not so much to look with scientific eyes upon the stars, as to shake herself free from certain purely terrestrial discontents. Much as a literary person, in like circumstances, would begin, absentmindedly, pulling out volume after volume, so she stepped into the garden in order to have the stars at hand, even though she did not look at them. Not to be happy when she was supposed to be happier than she would ever be again. That, as far as she could see, was the origin of a discontent which had begun almost as soon as she arrived, two days before, and seemed now so intolerable that she had left the family party and come out here to consider it by herself. It was not she who thought herself unhappy, but her cousins, who thought it for her. The house was full of cousins, much of her age or even younger, and among them they had some terribly bright eyes. They seemed always on the search for something between her and Rodney, which they expected to find, and yet did not find, and when they searched, Catherine became aware of wanting what she had not been conscious of wanting in London, alone with William and her parents. Or, if she did not want it, she missed it. And this state of mind depressed her, because she had been accustomed always to give complete satisfaction, and her self-love was now a little ruffled. She would have liked to break through the reserve, habitual to her, in order to justify her engagement to someone whose opinion she valued. No one had spoken a word of criticism, but they left her alone with William. Not that that would have mattered, if they had not left her alone so politely, and perhaps that would not have mattered if they had not seemed so clearly silent, almost respectful in her presence, which gave way to criticism she felt out of it. Looking now and then at the sky, she went through the list of her cousins' names. Eleanor, Humphrey, Marmaduke, Sylvia, Henry, Cassandra, Gilbert, and Mostyn. Henry, the cousin who taught the young ladies of Bungay to play upon the violin, was the only one in whom she could confide. And as she walked up and down beneath the hoops of the pergola, she did begin a little speech to him, which ran something like this. To begin with, I'm very fond of William. You can't deny that. I know him better than anyone, almost. But why I'm marrying him is partly, I admit, I'm being quite honest with you and you mustn't tell anyone, partly because I want to get married. I want to have a house of my own. It isn't possible at home. It's all very well for you, Henry. You can go your own way. I have to be there always. Besides, you know what our house is. You wouldn't be happy either if you didn't do something. It isn't that I haven't the time at home. It's the atmosphere. Here, presumably, she imagined that her cousin, who had listened with his usual intelligent sympathy, raised his eyebrows a little and interposed. Well, what do you want to do? Even in this purely imaginary dialogue, Catherine found it difficult to confide her ambition to an imaginary companion. I should like, she began and hesitated quite a long time before she forced herself to add, with a change of voice, to study mathematics, to know about the stars. Henry was clearly amazed, but too kind to express all his doubts. He only said something about the difficulties of mathematics and remarked that very little was known about the stars. Catherine thereupon went on with the statement of her case. I don't care much whether I ever get to know anything, but I want to work out something in figures, something that hasn't got to do with human beings. I don't want people particularly. In some ways, Henry, I'm a humbug. I mean, I'm not what you all take me for. I'm not domestic or very practical or sensible, really. And if I could calculate things and use a telescope and have to work out figures and know to a fraction where I was wrong, I should be perfectly happy, and I believe I should give William all he wants. Having reached this point, Instinct told her that she had passed beyond the region in which Henry's advice could be of any good, and having rid her mind of its superficial annoyance, she sat herself upon the stone seat. Raised her eyes unconsciously and thought about the deeper questions which she had to decide she knew for herself. Would she indeed give William all he wanted? In order to decide the question, she ran her mind rapidly over her little collection of significant sayings, looks, compliments, gestures which had marked their intercourse during the last day or two. He had been annoyed because a box containing some clothes, specially chosen by him for her to wear, had been taken to the wrong station, owing to her neglect in the matter of labels. The box had arrived in the nick of time, and he had remarked, as she came downstairs on the first night, that he had never seen her look more beautiful. She outshone all her cousins. He had discovered that she never made an ugly movement. He also said that the shape of her head made it possible for her, unlike most women, to wear her hair low. He had twice reproved her for being silent at dinner, and once for never attending to what he said. He had been surprised at the excellence of her French accent, but he thought it was selfish of her not to go with her mother to call upon the Middletons, because they were old family friends and very nice people. On the whole, the balance was nearly even, and writing down a kind of conclusion in her mind, which finished the sum for the present at least, she changed the focus of her eyes and saw nothing but the stars. Tonight they seemed fixed with unusual firmness in the blue, and flashed back such a ripple of light into her eyes, that she found herself thinking that tonight the stars were happy. Without knowing or caring much for church practices than most people of her age, Catherine could not look into the sky at Christmas time, without feeling that, at this one season, the heavens bend over the earth with sympathy, and signal with immortal radiance that they too take part in her festival. Somehow it seemed to her that they were even now beholding the procession of kings and wise men upon some road on a distant part of the earth. And yet after gazing for another second, the stars did their usual work upon the mind, froze to cinders the whole of our short human history, and reduced the human body to an ape-like furry form crouching amid the brushwood of a barbarous clod of mud. This stage was soon succeeded by another, in which there was nothing in the universe save stars and the light of stars, as she looked up the pupils of her eyes so dilated with starlight that the whole of her seemed dissolved in silver and split over the ledges of the stars forever and ever indefinitely through space. Somehow, simultaneously, though incongruously, she was riding with the magnanimous hero upon the shore or under forest trees, and so might have continued, or it not for the rebuke forcibly administered by the body, which, content with the normal conditions of life, in no way furthers any attempt on the part of the mind to alter them. She grew cold, shook herself, rose and walked toward the house. By the light of the stars, Stogdon House looked pale and romantic, and about twice its natural size. Built by a retired admiral in the early years of the nineteenth century, the curving bow-windows of the front, now filled with reddish-yellow light, suggested a portly three-decker sailing seas where those dolphins and gnar-walls who desport themselves upon the edges of old maps were scattered with an impartial hand. A semi-circular flight of shallow steps led to a very large door, which Catherine had left ajar.  For a moment she stood in the square hall, among many horned skulls, sallow globes, cracked oil paintings, and stuffed owls, hesitating it seemed whether she should open the door on her right, through which the stir of life reached her ears. Listening for a moment she heard a sound which decided her, apparently not to enter. Her uncle, Sir Francis, was playing his nightly game of wist. It appeared probable that he was losing. She went up the curving stairway which represented the one attempt at ceremony in the otherwise rather dilapidated mansion, and down a narrow passage until she came to the room whose light she had seen from the garden. Knocking she was told to come in. A young man, Henry Ottway, was reading, with his feet on the fender. He had a fine head, the brow arched in the Elizabethan manner, but the gentle honest eyes were rather skeptical than glowing with the Elizabethan vigor. He gave the impression that he had not yet found the cause which suited his temperament. He turned, put down his book, and looked at her. He noticed her rather pale, do-drenched look, as if one whose mind is not altogether settled in the body. He had often laid his difficulties before her, and guessed, in some ways hoped, that perhaps she now had need of him. At the same time she carried on her life with such independence that he scarcely expected any confidence to be expressed in words. You have fled too then, he said, looking at her cloak. Catherine had forgotten to remove this token of her stargazing. Fled, she said, from whom do you mean? Oh, the family party! Yes, it was hot down there, so I went into the garden. And aren't you very cold? Henry inquired, placing coal on the fire, drawing a chair up to the grate and laying aside her cloak. Her indifference to such details often forced Henry to act the part generally taken by women in such dealings. It was one of the ties between them. Thank you, Henry, she said. I'm not disturbing you? I'm not here. I'm at Bungay, he replied. I'm giving a music lesson to Harold and Julia. That was why I had to leave the table with the ladies. I'm spending the night there, and I shan't be back till late on Christmas Eve. How I wish Catherine began and stopped short. I think these parties are a great mistake, she added briefly, and sighed. Oh, horrible, he agreed, and they both fell silent. Her sigh made him look at her. Should he venture to ask her why she sighed? Was her reticence about her own affairs as inviolable as it had often been convenient for rather an egotistical young man to think it? But since her engagement to Rodney, Henry's feelings toward her had become rather complex, equally divided between an impulse to hurt her and an impulse to be tender to her, and all the time he suffered a curious irritation from the sense that she was drifting away from him forever upon unknown seas. On her side, directly Catherine got into his presence, and the sense of the stars dropped from her, she knew that any intercourse between people is extremely partial, from the whole mass of her feelings, only one or two could be selected for Henry's inspection, and therefore she sighed. Then she looked at him, and their eyes meeting much more seemed to be in common between them, than had appeared possible. At any rate, they had a grandfather in common. At any rate, there was a kind of loyalty between them, sometimes found between relations, who have no other cause to like each other, as these two had. Well, what's the date of the wedding? said Henry, the malicious mood now predominating. I think, sometime in March, she replied. And afterwards, he asked. We take a house, I suppose, somewhere in Chelsea. It's very interesting, he observed, stealing another look at her. She lay back in her armchair, her feet high upon the side of the grate, and in front of her, presumably to screen her eyes, she held a newspaper from which she picked up a sentence or two now and again. Observing this, Henry remarked. Perhaps marriage will make you more human. At this, she lowered the newspaper an inch or two, but said nothing. Indeed, she sat quite silent for over a minute. When you consider things like the stars, our affairs don't seem to matter very much, do they? she said suddenly. I don't think I ever do consider things like the stars, Henry replied. I'm not sure that that's not the explanation, though, he added, now observing her steadily. I doubt whether there is an explanation. She replied rather hurriedly, not clearly understanding what he meant. What, no explanation of anything, he inquired with a smile. All things happen, that's about all, she let drop in her casual, decided way. That certainly seems to explain some of your actions, Henry thought to himself. One thing's about as good as another, and one's got to do something, he said aloud, expressing what he's supposed to be her attitude, much in her accent. Perhaps she detected the imitation, for looking gently at him, she said, with ironical composure. Well, if you believe that your life must be simple, Henry. But I don't believe it, he said shortly. No more do I, she replied. What about the stars, he asked a moment later. I understand that you rule your life by the stars. She let this pass, either because she did not attend to it, or because the tone was not to her liking. Once more she paused. And then she inquired, but do you always understand why you do everything? Want one to understand? People like my mother understand, she reflected. Now I must go down to them, I suppose, and see what's happening. What could be happening, Henry protested. Oh, they may want to settle something, she replied vaguely, putting her feet on the ground, resting her chin on her hands, and looking out of her large dark eyes contemplatively at the fire. And then there's William, she added, as if by an afterthought. Henry very nearly laughed, but restrained himself. Do they know what coals are made of, Henry? she asked a moment later. Mayor's tales, I believe, he hazarded. Have you ever been down a coal mine? she went on. Don't let's talk about coal mines, Catherine, he protested. We shall probably never see each other again, when you're married. Tremendously to his surprise he saw the tears stand in her eyes. Why do you all tease me? she said, it isn't kind. Henry could not pretend that he was altogether ignorant of her meaning, though certainly he had never guessed that she minded the teasing. But before he knew what to say, her eyes were clear again, and the sudden crack in the surface was almost filled up. Things aren't easy anyhow, she stated. Obeying an impulse of genuine affection, Henry spoke, promise me, Catherine, that if I can ever help you, you will let me. She seemed to consider, looking once more into the red of the fire, and decided to refrain from any explanation. Yes, I promise that, she said at length, and Henry felt himself gratified by her complete sincerity, and began to tell her now about the coal mine in obedience to her love of facts. They were indeed distending the shaft in a small cage, and could hear the picks of the miners, something like the gnawing of rats in the earth beneath them when the door was burst open without any knocking. Well, there you are! Rodney exclaimed. Both Catherine and Henry turned round very quickly, and rather guiltily. Rodney was an evening dress. It was clear that his temper was ruffled. That's where you've been all the time, he repeated, looking at Catherine. I've only been here about ten minutes, she replied. My dear Catherine, you left the drawing-room over an hour ago. She said nothing. Does it very much matter? Henry asked. Rodney found it hard to be unreasonable in the presence of another man, and did not answer him. They don't like it, he said. It isn't kind to old people to leave them alone, although I've no doubt it's much more amusing to sit up here and talk to Henry. We were discussing coal mines, said Henry urbaneley. Yes, but we were talking about much more interesting things before that, said Catherine. From the apparent determination to hurt him, with which she spoke, Henry thought that some sort of explosion on Rodney's part was about to take place.  They were all silent, and the silence was acutely uncomfortable, to Henry at least. Was it very dull, William? Catherine suddenly asked, with a complete change of tone and a little gesture of her hand. Of course it was dull, William said, so golly. Well, you stay and talk to Henry, and I'll go down, she replied. She rose as she spoke, and as she turned to leave the room, she laid her hand with a curiously caressing gesture upon Rodney's shoulder. Instantly Rodney clasped her hand in his, with such an impulse of emotion that Henry was annoyed, and rather ostentatiously opened a book. I shall come down with you, said William as she drew back her hand, and made a sift to pass him. Oh no, she said hastily, you stay here and talk to Henry. Yes, do, said Henry, shutting up his book again. His invitation was polite, without being precisely cordial. Rodney evidently hesitated as to the course he should pursue, but seeing Catherine at the door, he exclaimed, No, I want to come with you. She looked back and said in a very commanding tone, and with an expression of authority upon her face. It's useless for you to come. I shall go to bed in ten minutes. Good night. She nodded to them both, but Henry could not help noticing that her last nod was in his direction. Rodney sat down rather heavily. His mortification was so obvious that Henry scarcely liked to open the conversation with some remark of a literary character. On the other hand, unless he checked him, Rodney might begin to talk about his feelings, and irredescence is apt to be extremely painful at any rate in prospect. He therefore adopted a middle course. That is to say, he wrote a note upon the flyleaf of his book, which ran, the situation is becoming most uncomfortable. This he decorated with those flourishes and decorative borders which grow of themselves upon these occasions, and as he did so, he thought to himself that whatever Catherine's difficulties might be, they did not justify her behavior. She had spoken with a kind of brutality which suggested that, whether it is natural or assumed, women have a peculiar blindness to the feelings of men. The penciling of the note gave Rodney time to recover himself. Perhaps, for he was a very vain man, he was more hurt that Henry had seen him rebuffed than by the rebuff itself. He was in love with Catherine, and vanity is not decreased but increased by love, especially one might hazard, in the presence of one's own sex. But Rodney enjoyed the courage which springs from that laughable and lovable defect, and when he had mastered his first impulse, in some way to make a fool of himself, he drew inspiration from the perfect fit of his evening dress. He chose a cigarette, tapped it on the back of his hand, displayed his exquisite pumps on the edge of the fender, and summoned his self-respect. You've several big estates around here, Oddway. He began. Any good hunting? Let me see. What pack would it be? Who's your great man? Sir William Budge, the sugar king, has the biggest estate. He bought out poor Stannum, who went bankrupt. Which Stannum would that be? Verney or Alfred? Alfred, I don't hunt myself.  You have a great reputation as a horseman, anyhow, he added, desiring to help Rodney in his effort to recover his complacency. Oh, I love riding, Rodney replied. Could I get a horse down here?  I forgot to bring any clothes.  To tell the truth, Henry labored under the same difficulty. He did not wish to introduce Catherine's name, and therefore he replied vaguely that he had always heard that Rodney was a great rider. In truth, he had heard very little about him, one way or another, accepting him as a figure often to be found in the background at his aunt's house, and inevitably, though inexplicably, engaged to his cousin. I don't care much for shooting, Rodney continued, but one has to do it, unless one wants to be altogether out of things. I daresay there's some very pretty country around here. I stayed once at Baltham Hall. Young Cranthrup was up with you, wasn't he? He married old Lord Baltham's daughter, very nice people, in their way. I don't mix in that society, Henry remarked rather shortly, but Rodney, now started on an agreeable current of reflection, could not resist the temptation of pursuing it a little further. He appeared to himself as a man who moved easily in very good society, and knew enough about the true values of life to be himself above it. Oh, but you should, he went on, it's well worth staying there anyhow once a year. They make one very comfortable, and the women are ravishing. The women, Henry thought to himself with disgust, what could any woman see in you? His tolerance was rapidly becoming exhausted, but he could not help liking Rodney nevertheless, and this appeared to him strange, for he was fastidious and such words in another mouth would have condemned the speaker irreparably. He began in short to wonder what kind of creature this man who was to marry his cousin might be. Could anyone, except a rather singular character, afford to be so ridiculously vain? I don't think I should get on in that society, he replied. I don't think I should know what to say to Lady Rose if I met her. I don't find any difficulty, Rodney chuckled. You talk to them about their children if they have any, or their accomplishments, painting, gardening, poetry? They're so delightfully sympathetic. Seriously, you know I think a woman's opinion of one's poetry is always worth having. Don't ask them for their reasons, just ask them for their feelings. Catherine, for example. Catherine, said Henry with an emphasis upon the name, almost as if he resented Rodney's use of it. Catherine is very unlike most women. Quite, Rodney agreed. She is. He seemed about to describe her, and he hesitated for a long time. She's looking very well, he stated, or rather almost inquired, in a different tone from that in which he had been speaking. Henry bent his head. But as a family you're given two moods, eh? Not Catherine, said Henry with decision. Not Catherine, Rodney repeated, as if he weighed the meaning of the words. No, perhaps you're right, but her engagement has changed her. Naturally, he added, one would expect that to be so. He waited for Henry to confirm this statement, but Henry remained silent. Catherine has had a difficult life in some ways. He continued, I expect that marriage will be good for her. She has great powers. Great, said Henry with decision. Yes, but what direction do you think they take? Rodney had completely dropped his pose as a man of the world, and seemed to be asking Henry to help him in a difficulty. I don't know, Henry hesitated cautiously. Do you think children, a household, that sort of thing, do you think that'll satisfy her? Mind, I'm out all day. She would certainly be very competent, Henry stated. Oh, she's wonderfully competent, said Rodney, but I get absorbed in my poetry. Well, Catherine hasn't got that. She admires my poetry, you know. But that wouldn't be enough for her. No, said Henry. He paused. I think you're right, he added, as if he were summing up his thoughts. Catherine hasn't found herself yet. Life isn't altogether real to her yet. I sometimes think. Yes, Rodney inquired, as if he were eager for Henry to continue. That is what I—he was going on as Henry remained silent, but the sentence was not finished, for the door opened, and they were interrupted by Henry's younger brother Gilbert, much to Henry's relief, for he had already said more than he liked. End of Chapter 16 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, please visit LibriVox.org. Night and Day by Virginia Woolf. Chapter 17 When the sun shone, as it did with unusual brightness that Christmas week, it revealed much that was faded and not altogether well kept up in Stoggenhaus and its grounds. In truth, Sir Francis had retired from service under the Government of India with a pension that was not adequate, in his opinion, to his services, as it certainly was not adequate to his ambitions. His career had not come up to his expectations, and although he was a very fine, white-whiskered, mahogany-colored old man to look at, and had laid down a very choice-seller of good reading and good stories, you could not long remain ignorant of the fact that some thunderstorm had soured them. He had a grievance. This grievance dated back to the middle years of the last century, when, owing to some official intrigue, his merits had been passed over in a disgraceful manner in favour of another, his junior. The rights and wrongs of the story, presuming that they had some existence in fact, were no longer clearly known to his wife and children, but this disappointment had played a very large part in their lives, and had poisoned the life of Sir Francis much as a disappointment in love is said to poison the whole life of a woman. Long brooding on his failure, continual arrangement and rearrangement of his desserts and rebuffs, had made Sir Francis much of an egoist, and in his retirement his temper became increasingly difficult and exacting. His wife now offered so little resistance to his moods that she was practically useless to him. He made his daughter Eleanor into his chief confidant, and the prime of her life was being rapidly consumed by her father. To her he dictated the memoirs which were to avenge his memory, and she had to assure him constantly that his treatment had been a disgrace. Already at the age of thirty-five, her cheeks were whitening as her mothers had whitened, but for her there would be no memories of Indian sons and Indian rivers and clamour of children in a nursery. She would have very little of substance to think about when she sat, as Lady Otway now sat, knitting white wool, with her eyes fixed almost perpetually upon the same embroidered bird, upon the same fire screen. But then Lady Otway was one of the people for whom the great make-believe game of English social life has been invented. She spent most of her time in pretending to herself and her neighbors that she was a dignified, important, much occupied person of considerable social standing and sufficient wealth. In view of the actual state of things, this game needed a great deal of skill, and perhaps at the age she had reached, she was over sixty, she played far more to deceive herself than to deceive anyone else. Moreover, the armour was wearing thin. She forgot to keep up appearances more and more. The worn patches in the carpets and the pallor of the drawing-room where no chair or cover had been renewed for some years were due not only to the miserable penchant, but to the wear and tear of twelve children, eight of whom were sons. As often happens in these large families, a distinct dividing line could be traced about halfway in the succession, where the money for educational purposes had run short, and the six younger children had grown up far more economically than the elder. If the boys were clever they won scholarships and went to school. If they were not clever they took what the family connection had to offer them. The girls accepted situations occasionally, but there were always one or two at home, nursing sick animals, tending silkworms, or playing the flute in their bedrooms. The distinction between the elder children and the younger corresponded almost to the distinction between a higher class and a lower one, for with only a haphazard education and insufficient allowances the younger children had picked up accomplishments, friends, and points of view which were not to be found within the walls of a public school or of a government office. Between the two divisions there was considerable hostility, the elder trying to patronize the younger, the younger refusing to respect the elder, but one feeling united them and instantly closed any risk of a breach, their common belief in the superiority of their own family to all others. Henry was the eldest of the younger group and their leader. He bought strange books and joined odd societies. He went without a tie for a whole year and had six shirts made of black flannel. He had long refused to take a seat either in a shipping office or in a tea merchant's warehouse, and persisted in spite of the disapproval of uncles and aunts in practicing both violin and piano with the result that he could not perform professionally upon either. Indeed, for 32 years of life he had nothing more substantial to show than a manuscript book containing the score of half an opera. In this protest of his, Catherine had always given him her support, and as she was generally held to be an extremely sensible person who dressed too well to be eccentric, he had found her support of some use. Indeed, when she came down at Christmas she usually spent a great part of her time in private conferences with Henry and with Cassandra, the youngest girl to whom the silkworms belonged. With the younger section she had a great reputation for common sense and for something that they despised but inwardly respected and called knowledge of the world, that is to say, of the way in which respectable elderly people going to their clubs and dining out with ministers think and behave. She had more than once played the part of ambassador between Lady Otway and her children. That poor lady, for instance, consulted her for advice when, one day, she opened Cassandra's bedroom door on a mission of discovery and found the ceiling hung with mulberry leaves, the windows blocked with cages, and the table stacked with homemade machines for the manufacture of silk dresses. I wish you could help her take an interest in something that other people are interested in, Catherine. She observed, rather plaintively, detailing her grievances. It's all Henry's doing, you know, giving up her parties and taking to these nasty insects. It doesn't fall that if a man can do a thing, a woman may, too. The morning was sufficiently bright to make the chairs and sofas in Lady Otway's private sitting-room appear more than usually shabby. And the gallant gentleman, her brothers and cousins, who had defended the empire and left their bones on many frontiers, looked at the world through a film of yellow which the morning light seemed to have drawn across their photographs. Lady Otway sighed. It may be at the faded relics and turned with resignation to her balls of wool which curiously and characteristically were not an ivory white but rather a tarnished yellow white. She had called her niece in for a little chat. She had always trusted her and now more than ever since her engagement to Rodney, which seemed to Lady Otway extremely suitable and just what one would wish for one's own daughter. Catherine unwittingly increased her reputation for wisdom by asking to be given knitting needles, too. It's so very pleasant, said Lady Otway, to knit while one's talking. And now, my dear Catherine, tell me about your plans. The emotions of the night before which she had suppressed in such a way as to keep her awake till dawn had left Catherine a little jaded and thus more matter of fact than usual. She was quite ready to discuss her plans, houses and rents, servants and economy without feeling that they concerned her very much. As she spoke, knitting methodically meanwhile, Lady Otway noted with approval the upright responsible bearing of her niece, to whom the prospect of marriage had brought some gravity most becoming in a bride and yet in these days most rare. Yes, Catherine's engagement had changed her a little. What a perfect daughter or daughter-in-law she thought to herself and could not help contrasting her with Cassandra surrounded by innumerable silkworms in her bedroom. Yes, she continued, glancing at Catherine with the round greenish eyes which were as inexpressive as moist marbles. Catherine is like the girls of my youth. We took the serious things of life seriously. But just as she was deriving satisfaction from this thought and was producing some of the hoarded wisdom which none of her own daughters, alas, seemed to need the door opened and Mrs. Hillberry came in or rather did not come in but stood in the doorway and smiled having evidently mistaken the room. I never shall know my way about this house, she exclaimed. I'm on my way to the library and I don't want to interrupt. You and Catherine were having a little chat? The presence of her sister-in-law made Lady Ottway slightly uneasy. How could she go on with what she was saying in Maggie's presence? For she was saying something that she had never said all these years to Maggie herself. I was telling Catherine a few little common places about marriage. She said was a little laugh. None of my children looking after you, Maggie? Marriage, said Mrs. Hillberry, coming into the room and nodding her head once or twice. I always say marriage is a school and you don't get the prizes unless you go to school. Charlotte has won all the prizes, she added, giving her sister-in-law a little pat, which made Lady Ottway more uncomfortable still. She half laughed, muttered something, and ended on a sigh. And Charlotte was saying that it's no good being married unless you submit to your husband, said Catherine, framing her aunt's words into a far more definite shape than they had really worn. And when she spoke thus she did not appear at all old-fashioned. Lady Ottway looked at her and paused for a moment. Well, I really don't advise a woman who wants to have things her own way to get married, she said, beginning a fresh row rather elaborately. Mrs. Hillberry knew something of the circumstances which, as she thought, had inspired this remark. In a moment her face was clouded with sympathy, which she did not quite know how to express. What a shame it was, she exclaimed, forgetting that her train of thought might not be obvious to her listeners. But Charlotte, it would have been much worse if Frank had disgraced himself in any way. And it isn't what our husbands get, but what they are. I used to dream of white horses and palakins, too. But still, I like the ink pot's best, and who knows? She concluded looking at Catherine, your father may be made a baronette tomorrow. Lady Ottway, who was Mr. Hillberry's sister, knew quite well that, in private, the Hillberry's called Sir Francis that old Turk, and though she did not follow the drift of Mrs. Hillberry's remarks, she knew what prompted them. But if you can give way to your husband, she said, speaking to Catherine, as if there were a separate understanding between them, a happy marriage is the happiest thing in the world. Yes, said Catherine. But she did not mean to finish her sentence. She merely wished to induce her mother and her aunt to go on talking about marriage, for she was in the mood to feel that other people could help her if they would. She went on knitting, but her fingers worked with a decision that was oddly unlike the smooth and contemplative sweep of Lady Ottway's plump hand. Now and then she looked swiftly at her mother, then at her aunt. Mrs. Hillberry held a book in her hand and was on her way, as Catherine guessed, to the library, where another paragraph was to be added to that varied assortment of paragraphs, the life of Richard Allardice. Normally Catherine would have hurried her mother downstairs and seen that no excuse for distraction came her way. Her attitude towards the poet's life, however, had changed with other changes, and she was content to forget all about her scheme of hours. Mrs. Hillberry was secretly delighted. Her relief at finding herself excused manifested itself in a series of side-long glances of sly humor in her daughter's direction, and the indulgence put her in the best of spirits. Was she to be allowed merely to sit and talk? It was so much pleasanter to sit in a nice room filled with all sorts of interesting odds and ends, which she hadn't looked at for a year, at least, to look out one date which contradicted another in a dictionary. We've all had perfect husbands, she concluded, generously forgiving Sir Francis all his faults in a lump. Not that I think a bad temper is really a fault in a man. I don't mean a bad temper, she corrected herself, with a glance obviously in the direction of Sir Francis. I should say a quick, impatient temper. Most, in fact, all great men have had bad tempers, except your grandfather Catherine, and here she sighed, and suggested that, perhaps, she ought to go down to the library. But in an ordinary marriage is it necessary to give way to one's husband? Said Catherine, taking no notice of her mother's suggestion, blind even to the depression which had now taken possession of her at the thought of her own inevitable death. I should say yes, certainly, said Lady Otway, with a decision most unusual for her. Then one ought to make up one's mind to that before one is married, Catherine mused, seeming to address herself. Mrs. Hilbury was not much interested in these remarks, which seemed to have a melancholy tendency, and to revive her spirit she had recourse to an invaluable remedy. She looked out of the window. Do look at that lovely little blue bird, she exclaimed, and her eye looked with extreme pleasure at the soft sky, at the trees, at the green fields visible behind those trees, and at the leafless branches which surrounded the body of the small blue tin. Her sympathy with nature was exquisite. Most women know by instinct whether they can give it or not. Lady Otway slipped in quickly in rather a low voice, as if she wanted to get this said while her sister-in-law's attention was diverted. And if not, well, then my advice would be, don't marry. Oh, but marriage is the happiest life for a woman, said Mrs. Hilbury, catching the word marriage as she brought her eyes back to the room again. Then she turned her mind to what she had said. It's the most interesting life, she corrected herself. She looked at her daughter with a look of vague alarm. It was the kind of maternal scrutiny which suggests that, in looking at her daughter, a mother is really looking at herself. She was not altogether satisfied, but she purposely made no attempt to break down the reserve, which, as a matter of fact, was a quality she particularly admired and depended upon in her daughter. But when her mother said that marriage was the most interesting life, Catherine felt, as she was apt to do suddenly, for no definite reason, that they understood each other in spite of differing in every possible way. Yet the wisdom of the old seems to apply more to feelings which we have in common with the rest of the human race than to our feelings as individuals. And Catherine knew that only someone of her own age could follow her meaning. Both these elderly women seemed to her to have been content with so little happiness, and at the moment she had not sufficient force to feel certain that their version of marriage was the wrong one. In London, certainly, this temperate attitude toward her own marriage had seemed to her just. Why had she now changed? Why did it now depress her? It never occurred to her that her own conduct could be anything of a puzzle to her mother, or that elder people are as much affected by the young as the young are by them. And yet it was true that love, passion, whatever one chose to call it, had played far less part in Mrs. Hilbury's life than might have seemed likely, judging from her enthusiastic and imaginative temperament. She had always been more interested by other things. Lady Otway, strange though it seemed, guessed more accurately at Catherine's state of mind than her mother did. Why don't we all live in the country? exclaimed Mrs. Hilbury, once more looking out of the window. I'm sure one would think such beautiful things if one lived in the country, no horrid slumhouses to depress one, no trams or motorcars, and the people all looking so plump and cheerful. Isn't there some little cottage near you, Charlotte, which would do for us, with a spare room perhaps in case we asked a friend down? And we should save so much money that we should be able to travel. Yes, you would find it very nice for a week or two, no doubt, said Lady Otway. What hour would you like the carriage this morning? She continued, touching the bell. Catherine shelled the side, said Mrs. Hilbury, feeling herself unable to prefer one hour to another. And I was just going to tell you, Catherine, how when I woke this morning everything seemed so clear in my head that I had had a pencil I believe I could have written quite a long chapter. When we're out on our drive I shall find us a house, a few trees rounded and a little garden, a pond with a Chinese duck, a study for your father, a study for me, and a sitting room for Catherine, because then she'll be a married lady. At this Catherine shivered a little, drew up to the fire and warmed her hands by spreading them over the topmost peak of the coal. She wished to bring the talk back to marriage again in order to hear Aunt Charlotte's views, but she did not know how to do this. Let me look at your engagement ring, Aunt Charlotte, she said, noticing her own. She took the cluster of green stones and turned it round and round, but she did not know what to say next. That poor old ring was a sad disappointment to me when I first had it, Lady Ottway mused. I'd set my heart on a diamond ring, but I never liked to tell Frank, naturally, he bought it at Simla. Catherine turned the ring round once more and gave it back to her aunt without speaking, and while she turned it round her lips set themselves firmly together, and it seemed to her that she could satisfy William as these women had satisfied their husbands. She could pretend to like emeralds when she preferred diamonds. Having replaced her ring, Lady Ottway remarked that it was chilly, though not more so than one must expect at this time of year. Indeed, one ought to be thankful to see the sun at all, and she advised them both to dress warmly for their drive. Her aunt's stock of commonplaces, Catherine sometimes suspected, had been laid in on purpose to fill silences with, and had little to do with her private thoughts. But at this moment they seemed terribly in keeping with her own conclusions, so that she took up her knitting again and listened, chiefly with a view to confirming herself in the belief that to be engaged to marry someone with whom you are not in love is an inevitable step in a world where the existence of passion is only a traveler's story brought from the heart of deep forests and told so rarely that wise people doubt whether the story can be true. She did her best to listen to her mother asking for news of John and to her aunt replying with the authentic history of Hilda's engagement to an officer in the Indian army. But she cast her mind alternately towards forest paths and starry blossoms and towards pages of neatly written mathematical signs. When her mind took this turn her marriage seemed no more than an archway through which it was necessary to pass in order to have her desire. At such times the current of her nature ran in its deep narrow channel with great force and with an alarming lack of consideration for the feelings of others. Just as the two elder ladies had finished their survey of the family prospects and Lady Ottway was nervously anticipating some general statement as to life and death from her sister-in-law Cassandra burst into the room with the news that the carriage was at the door. Why didn't Andrews tell me himself? said Lady Ottway, previously, blaming her servants for not living up to her ideals. When Mrs. Hilbury and Catherine arrived in the hall ready dressed for their drive they found that the usual discussion was going forward as to the plans of the rest of the family. In token of this a great many doors were opening and shutting. Two or three people stood irresolutely on the stairs, now going a few steps up and now a few steps down and Sir Francis himself had come out from his study with the times under his arm and a complaint about noise and drafts from the open door which at least had the effect of bundling the people who did not want to go into the carriage and sending those who did not want to stay back to their rooms. It was decided that Mrs. Hilbury, Catherine, Rodney, and Henry should drive to Lincoln and anyone else who wished to go should follow on bicycles or in the pony cart. Everyone who stayed at Stogdon House had to make this expedition to Lincoln in obedience to Lady Ottway's conception of the right way to entertain her guests which she had imbibed from reading infashionable papers of the behavior of Christmas parties in duke houses. The carriage horses were both fat and aged. Still they matched. The carriage was shaky and uncomfortable but the Ottway arms were visible on the panels. Lady Ottway stood on the topmost step wrapped in a white shawl and waved her hand almost mechanically until they had turned the corner under the laurel bushes when she retired indoors with a sense that she had played her part and a sigh at the thought that none of her children felt it necessary to play theirs. The carriage bowled along smoothly over the gently curving road. Mrs. Hilbury dropped into a pleasant inattentive state of mind in which she was conscious of the running green lines of the hedges of the swelling plow land and of the mild blue sky which served her after the first five minutes for a pastoral background to the drama of human life and then she thought of a cottage garden with the flash of yellow daffodils against blue water and what with the arrangement of these different prospects and the shaping of two or three lovely phrases she did not notice that the young people in the carriage were almost silent. Henry, indeed, had been included against his wish and revenged himself by observing Catherine and Rodney with disillusioned eyes while Catherine was in a state of gloomy self-suppression which resulted in complete apathy. When Rodney spoke to her she either said come or assented so listlessly that he addressed his next remark to her mother. His deference was agreeable to her. His manners were exemplary and when the church towers and factory chimneys of the town came into sight she roused herself and recalled memories of the fair summer of 1853 which fitted in harmoniously with what she was dreaming of the future.


Girls side warriors also open up at home tonight versus Buffalo and the Warriors were firing on all cylinders. Gabby Smith here. She'll find the easy one on one goal, brainered up two nil than later. Lexi Roby is going to face off against the keeper and wins the battle, heads it in for the goal. A three nil halftime lead. They hold on to the second half and win by two. If you've enjoyed this segment of Lakeland news, please consider making a tax deductible contribution to Lakeland public television.


People are fans of the ScanSnap scanners and they were from Fujitsu but I'm standing in a Pfu Rico company booth and Scott Francis is going to explain to me what I just said. Yes Allison, well thanks for stopping by. So the former Fujitsu company that has made Fujitsu scanners for over 30 years was acquired by Rico. Rico now owns a majority 80% of our company so now we've gone from the Fujitsu logo to Rico. Okay that's good but Rico is a household name we're good with that. Rico is an excellent name they make great products so we really found ourselves right at home under the Rico badge. Yeah that sure sounds like it. So you've got a couple of things here what I'm really excited about is portable displays. I think portable USB-C displays have just like revolutionized my life I think they're cool so you've got an offering here. I think it's one of the best new products that most people didn't even know existed. Didn't know they even needed. That's right but when you get one in your hands you'll know right away that you want one and you won't want to give it back. That's for sure I bought one I gave my daughter one and then now she's basically like a salesperson at her office for them. So what is the offering from Rico? So this is our new portable monitor 150 we also have the 150bw which is a battery and wireless model. What? That's right wireless okay don't don't get me too excited we'll come up on the wireless one let's do this one first. Yeah let's talk about the basic specifications that both models share. First it's a 15.6 inch OLED display. OLED okay. So you're going to get great brightness amazing image quality. We have twin speakers on the side to compliment your presentation. This has tempered glass so it's a very durable design as well. That's important in a portable display. And full HD resolution as well. Okay yeah oh yeah so what is the resolution? The resolution is full HD 1920 by 1080. Okay okay and then it looks like it might have a kickstand on the back does it? Great point Allison so we can see it from the side it has an integrated kickstand this is unique to our model it's unique because you can have it in different orientations let's say I'm a graphics artist and I want to do some digital art I can have it in any orientation that works this is a 10 point touch screen display. So for Windows users at least. Windows users Mac users even iOS and Android. Oh that's interesting so the the way he's got it set on the table it's at an angle like it would be very comfortable to draw on it with Pro Creator or something like that but it's not a you wouldn't be drawing right on it. You could draw right on this using the stylus you can use a standard stylus we also sell a stylus for about a hundred dollars the hell it has over 4,000 levels of sensitivity and two function buttons so if you're using Adobe Photoshop you can bring out all those extra features. But macOS is not a touch operating system but I guess it's like having a a Wacom tablet in the old day. Yeah I think for for driving it with the display itself it would actually be Windows or Android. Okay that makes sense. For Mac you can actually duplicate your display but to your point you're not actively driving the session. Okay that that makes more sense but it can also stand up as a regular stand for using it as a computer device as an extended display. Or sizes in between. So that's the best part about it. Very nice very nice. The thing I like about an integrated kickstand is it doesn't take up a lot of room on the desk too. It's perfect for all those home remote workers that don't have a lot of space. Or road warriors. And in road warriors you can take it right on the road. If you're an outside salesperson let your customer see the presentation while you drive it from the other side. This is a much better experience than having everyone huddle around a laptop. Right right right. Okay so now I want to hear about this wireless version because that just sounds like sorcery to me. So we're gonna walk down here. Now with both models I can go I can go USB-C with either model and it can be powered with USB-C as well for our battery model. So the battery model has a three hour battery and it can charge in about two and a half hours. This is one I've got in my hand right here. Yes this is the BW. Okay I'm lifting this thing and this thing weighs nothing. This is a three and a half hour battery. It weighs 25 ounces. It's amazing. One hand maybe even two fingers. I'm telling you Steve's manning the camera but you got to lift this. You got to see how light this is. That is astonishing. That's so light. Now it's it's tethered right now to cable. Travel around with a portable display. You want the 150 because it is super lightweight but it's solid design. But that's got a battery in it. It's got a battery in it. A three hour battery that can recharge in about two and a half hours. It's amazing. And you can use it while it's charging. That's fantastic. So this is the 150 and the 150 BW. Yes. BW stands for? It's just our part number suffix to connotate that we have a battery and wireless. Battery, wireless. Okay I got that. So what's your price point on these two? Street price is $700 for the wireless and battery model. 550 is the street price for the USB-C only. So if you're looking at cheesy USB-C displays and going well wait a minute that's a ridiculous price. These are OLED. That is a huge difference. You could spend $200 on a portable display but it's going to be heavy. It's not going to have a battery. It's not going to operate well. These have a reduction of blue light emissions to make it great. You can even use it in lower light settings. If you're going to use something all of the time, spend a little more and get a lot more value. Very good. This is fantastic. So if people want to find out more about the 150 and the 150 BW portable displays, where would they go? They can go to RECODocumentscanners.com and that will take you to our RECO site where we have all of our products here including our document scanners. All right very good. Thank you very much Scott. This is fantastic. Thank you Allison.


Earth's energy budget is the balance between the amount of energy coming into the Earth's system and the amount of energy moving out of the Earth's system. This energy budget is complicated and there are a lot of things that affect how much energy goes in and how much energy goes out. In this video, we will be talking about the factors that affect how much energy comes into the Earth's system from the Sun. We'll also talk about how this energy affects climate. Most of the radiation coming into the Earth's system is in the form of visible light which we can see and ultraviolet light which we cannot see. This light hits the surface of the Earth as well as the atmosphere and the clouds and when it does it can get absorbed or reflected or re-emitted and we'll talk about some of these things in future videos. The Sun's brightness varies and the amount of energy that reaches our Earth's system can change over minutes to millions of years. There are several factors that can affect the energy coming from our Sun. Some of these can affect our long-term climate over tens of thousands of years but most of these natural variations are not responsible for the quickly rising global temperatures we've been seeing over the last several decades. Still, these things are important to know about if we want to understand Earth's energy budget as well as why these natural cycles in the energy we get from the Sun are not responsible for the recent increases in global temperature. First, let's talk about sunspots. Sunspots are dark areas on the Sun caused by increased magnetic activity. Sunspots occur in an 11-year cycle where the number decreases to a minimum or small amount and then gradually increases to a maximum or larger amount and then the number returns to a minimum. The Sun releases more energy when there are a lot of sunspots and less when there are fewer but when there is a solar maximum Sun's energy output increases by only about 0.15% and that's a tiny bit. Most scientists agree that these small fluctuations in the Sun's output cannot explain the large increase in global temperature that we are seeing today. Indeed, since the 1970s, the solar output has remained stable or has even been decreasing as we can see in this graph and yet our average global temperatures have continued to rapidly increase. So even if sunspots can affect climate, they cannot explain the climate change we are seeing today. Sunspots can affect the Sun's energy output over short periods of time. However, there are several other things that can affect its energy output over thousands of years. About a century ago, a Serbian scientist named Milutin Milankovic proposed that changes in Earth's position relative to the Sun can affect Earth's long-term climate over tens of thousands of years. We call these changes Milankovic cycles and there are three main ones you need to know about. First, the shape of the Earth's orbit changes over time and we call this eccentricity. Sometimes the orbit is more circular and sometimes it's more elliptical. This cycle is about 100,000 years long. Depending on the shape of the orbit and depending on whether the Earth is farther or closer to the Sun, the Earth gets more or less energy. When the orbit is circular, the seasons are milder. When the orbit is elliptical, the seasonal differences are greater. However, although eccentricity plays a role in long-term climate change, in other words, over tens of thousands of years, it cannot explain the rapid rise in average global temperature that we are seeing today. The second of these cycles relates to changes in the tilt of the Earth's axis. The angle of tilt ranges from 22.1 degrees to 24.5 degrees. We call this obliquity. When the Earth is more tilted, there tends to be more melting of glaciers and ice sheets and the difference in temperatures between summer and winter is greater than it is when the Earth is less tilted. This cycle of changes in Earth's tilt happens over a very long time, about 41,000 years, so it cannot be responsible for the rapid rise in global temperature that we see today. The third cycle relates to the changes in the Earth's wobble. The Earth wobbles on its axis of rotation, kind of like a spinning top does. We call this axial procession. This results in changes in where the Earth's axis is pointing. Sometimes the Northern Hemisphere points toward the Sun when it's farthest from the Sun in its orbit, and sometimes it points toward the Sun when it's closest to it. Depending on where the Earth's axis is pointing, this can determine whether seasons are milder or more extreme. The Earth's wobble changes over a cycle that's about 24,000 years long, so it can affect climate in the long term, but it's not responsible for the rapid changes in climate we are seeing today. In addition to the Milankovitch cycles, one more thing affects the amount of energy we get from the Sun, and that is that the Sun is gradually getting brighter. However, this is occurring over millions of years, much, much too slowly to be responsible for the temperature changes we are seeing today. In summary, the energy that enters the Earth system comes from the Sun. There are variations in how much solar energy the Earth gets. Some of these changes are short-term variations like sunspots, but there are also longer-term variations like the shape of the Earth's orbit, the tilt of the Earth's axis, and the way the Earth wobbles about its axis, as well as the fact that the Sun is gradually getting brighter. But none of these are thought to be responsible for the rapid increases in temperature that we are seeing today.