He went to his study； wrote； tore up； and wrote again a letter to his wife； asking her to e back on account of domestic difficulties which he specified at first； but in a later draft more discreetly left unspecified。 Even if she started the very moment that she got it； he reflected； she would not be home till Tuesday night； and he counted lugubriously the number of hours that he would have to spend in a position of detestable authority alone with his daughter。 What was she doing now； he wondered； as he addressed the envelope to his wife。 He could not control the telephone。 He could not play the spy。 She might be making any arrangements she chose。 Yet the thought did not disturb him so much as the strange； unpleasant； illicit atmosphere of the whole scene with the young people the night before。 His sense of disfort was almost physical。 Had he known it； Katharine was far enough withdrawn； both physically and spiritually； from the telephone。 She sat in her room with the dictionaries spreading their wide leaves on the table before her； and all the pages which they had concealed for so many years arranged in a pile。 She worked with the steady concentration that is produced by the successful effort to think down some un 416 Virginia Woolf wele thought by means of another thought。 Having absorbed the unwele thought； her mind went on with additional vigor； derived from the victory； on a sheet of paper lines of figures and symbols frequently and firmly written down marked the different stages of its progress。 And yet it was broad daylight； there were sounds of knocking and sweeping； which proved that living people were at work on the other side of the door； and the door； which could be thrown open in a second； was her only protection against the world。 But she had somehow risen to be mistress in her own kingdom； assuming her sovereignty unconsciously。 Steps approached her unheard。 It is true that they were steps that lingered； divagated； and mounted with the deliberation natural to one past sixty whose arms； moreover； are full of leaves and blossoms； but they came on steadily； and soon a tap of laurel boughs against the door arrested Katharine’s pencil as it touched the page。 She did not move； however； and sat blankeyed as if waiting for the interruption to cease。 Instead； the door opened。 At first； she attached no meaning to the moving mass of green which seemed to enter the room independently of any human agency。 Then she recognized parts of her mother’s face and person behind the yellow flowers and soft velvet of the palmbuds。 “From Shakespeare’s tomb！” exclaimed Mrs。 Hilbery； dropping the entire mass upon the floor； with a gesture that seemed to indicate an act of dedication。 Then she flung her arms wide and embraced her daughter。 “Thank God； Katharine！” she exclaimed。 “Thank God！” she repeated。 “You’ve e back？” said Katharine； very vaguely； standing up to receive the embrace。 Although she recognized her mother’s presence； she was very far from taking part in the scene； and yet felt it to be amazingly appropriate that her mother should be there； thanking God emphatically for unknown blessings； and strewing the floor with flowers and leaves from Shakespeare’s tomb。 “Nothing else matters in the world！” Mrs。 Hilbery continued。 “Names aren’t everything； it’s what we feel that’s everything。 I didn’t want silly； kind； interfering letters。 I 417 Night and Day didn’t want your father to tell me。 I knew it from the first。 I prayed that it might be so。” “You knew it？” Katharine repeated her mother’s words softly and vaguely； looking past her。 “How did you know it？” She began； like a child； to finger a tassel hanging from her mother’s cloak。 “The first evening you told me； Katharine。 Oh； and thousands of times —dinnerparties—talking about books— the way he came into the room—your voice when you spoke of him。” Katharine seemed to consider each of these proofs separately。 Then she said gravely： “I’m not going to marry William。 And then there’s Cassandra—” “Yes； there’s Cassandra；” said Mrs。 Hilbery。 “I own I was a little grudging at first； but； after all； she plays the piano so beautifully。 Do tell me； Katharine；” she asked impulsively； “where did you go that evening she played Mozart； and you thought I was asleep？” Katharine recollected with difficulty。 “To Mary Datchet’s；” she remembered。 “Ah！” said Mrs。 Hilbery； with a slight note of disappointment in her voice。 “I had my little romance—my little speculation。” She looked at her daughter。 Katharine faltered beneath that innocent and perating gaze； she flushed； turned away； and then looked up with very bright eyes。 “I’m not in love with Ralph Denham；” she said。 “Don’t marry unless you’re in love！” said Mrs。 Hilbery very quickly。 “But；” she added； glancing momentarily at her daughter； “aren’t there different ways； Katharine— different—？” “We want to meet as often as we like； but to be free；” Katharine continued。 “To meet here； to meet in his house； to meet in the street。” Mrs。 Hilbery ran over these phrases as if she were trying chords that did not quite satisfy her ear。 It was plain that she had her sources of information； and； indeed； her bag was stuffed with what she called “kind letters” from the pen of her sisterinlaw。 “Yes。 Or to stay away in the country；” Katharine concluded。 418 Virginia Woolf Mrs。 Hilbery paused； looked unhappy； and sought inspiration from the window。 “What a fort he was in that shop—how he took me and found the ruins at once—how safe I felt with him—” “Safe？ Oh； no； he’s fearfully rash—he’s always taking risks。 He wants to throw up his profession and live in a little cottage and write books； though he hasn’t a penny of his own； and there are any number of sisters and brothers dependent on him。” “Ah； he has a mother？” Mrs。 Hilbery inquired。 “Yes。 Rathe