at the lamp again； another love burnt in the place of the old one； or so； in a momentary glance of amazement； she guessed before the revelation was over and the old surroundings asserted themselves。 She leant in silence against the mantelpiece。 “There are different ways of loving；” she murmured； half to herself； at length。 Katharine made no reply and seemed unaware of her words。 She seemed absorbed in her own thoughts。 “Perhaps he’s waiting in the street again tonight；” she exclaimed。 “I’ll go now。 I might find him。” “It’s far more likely that he’ll e here；” said Mary； and Katharine； after considering for a moment； said： “I’ll wait another halfhour。” She sank down into her chair again； and took up the same position which Mary had pared to the position of one watching an unseeing face。 She watched； indeed； not a face； but a procession； not of people； but of life itself： the good and bad； the meaning； the past； the present； and the future。 All this seemed apparent to her； and she was not ashamed of her extravagance so much as exalted to one of the pinnacles of existence； where it behoved the world to do her homage。 No one but she 389 Night and Day herself knew what it meant to miss Ralph Denham on that particular night； into this inadequate event crowded feelings that the great crises of life might have failed to call forth。 She had missed him； and knew the bitterness of all failure； she desired him； and knew the torment of all passion。 It did not matter what trivial accidents led to this culmination。 Nor did she care how extravagant she appeared； nor how openly she showed her feelings。 When the dinner was ready Mary told her to e； and she came submissively； as if she let Mary direct her movements for her。 They ate and drank together almost in silence； and when Mary told her to eat more； she ate more； when she was told to drink wine； she drank it。 Nevertheless； beneath this superficial obedience； Mary knew that she was following her own thoughts unhindered。 She was not inattentive so much as remote； she looked at once so unseeing and so intent upon some vision of her own that Mary gradually felt more than protective— she became actually alarmed at the prospect of some collision between Katharine and the forces of the outside world。 Directly they had done； Katharine an nounced her intention of going。 “But where are you going to？” Mary asked； desiring vaguely to hinder her。 “Oh； I’m going home—no； to Highgate perhaps。” Mary saw that it would be useless to try to stop her。 All she could do was to insist upon ing too； but she met with no opposition； Katharine seemed indifferent to her presence。 In a few minutes they were walking along the Strand。 They walked so rapidly that Mary was deluded into the belief that Katharine knew where she was going。 She herself was not attentive。 She was glad of the movement along lamplit streets in the open air。 She was fingering； painfully and with fear； yet with strange hope； too； the discovery which she had stumbled upon unexpectedly that night。 She was free once more at the cost of a gift； the best； perhaps； that she could offer； but she was； thank Heaven； in love no longer。 She was tempted to spend the first instalment of her freedom in some dissipation； in the pit of the Coliseum； for example； since they were now passing the door。 Why not go in and celebrate her independence of the tyranny of love？ Or； per 390 Virginia Woolf haps； the top of an omnibus bound for some remote place such as Camberwell； or Sidcup； or the Welsh Harp would suit her better。 She noticed these names painted on little boards for the first time for weeks。 Or should she return to her room； and spend the night working out the details of a very enlightened and ingenious scheme？ Of all possibilities this appealed to her most； and brought to mind the fire； the lamplight； the steady glow which had seemed lit in the place where a more passionate flame had once burnt。 Now Katharine stopped； and Mary woke to the fact that instead of having a goal she had evidently none。 She paused at the edge of the crossing； and looked this way and that； and finally made as if in the direction of Haverstock Hill。 “Look here—where are you going？” Mary cried； catching her by the hand。 “We must take that cab and go home。” She hailed a cab and insisted that Katharine should get in； while she directed the driver to take them to Cheyne Walk。 Katharine submitted。 “Very well；” she said。 “We may as well go there as anywhere else。” A gloom seemed to have fallen on her。 She lay back in her corner； silent and apparently exhausted。 Mary； in spite of her own preoccupation； was struck by her pallor and her attitude of dejection。 “I’m sure we shall find him；” she said more gently than she had yet spoken。 “It may be too late；” Katharine replied。 Without understanding her； Mary began to pity her for what she was suffering。 “Nonsense；” she said； taking her hand and rubbing it。 “If we don’t find him there we shall find him somewhere else。” “But suppose he’s walking about the streets—for hours and hours？” She leant forward and looked out of the window。 “He may refuse ever to speak to me again；” she said in a low voice； almost to herself。 The exaggeration was so immense that Mary did not attempt to cope with it； save by keeping hold of Katharine’s wrist。 She half expected that Katharine might open the door suddenly and jump out。 Perhaps Katharine 391 Night and Day perceived the purpose with which her hand was held。 “Don’t be frightened；” she said； with a little laugh。 “I’m not going to jump out of the cab。 It wouldn’t do much good after all。” Upon this； Mary ostentatiously withdrew her hand。 “I ought to have apologized；” Katharine continued； with an effort； “for bringing you into all this business； I haven’t told you half； either。 I’m no longer engaged to William Rodney。 He is to marry Ca