get married？”
Mrs。 Seal emitted a most peculiar chuckle。 She seemed
for one moment to acknowledge the terrible side of life
which is concerned with the emotions； the private lives；
of the sexes； and then to sheer off from it with all possible
speed into the shades of her own shivering virginity。
She was made so unfortable by the turn the conversation
had taken； that she plunged her head into the
cupboard； and endeavored to abstract some very obscure
piece of china。
“We have our work；” she said； withdrawing her head；
displaying cheeks more than usually crimson； and placing
a jampot emphatically upon the table。 But； for the
moment； she was unable to launch herself upon one of
those enthusiastic； but inconsequent； tirades upon liberty；
democracy； the rights of the people； and the iniquities
of the Government； in which she delighted。 Some
memory from her own past or from the past of her sex
rose to her mind and kept her abashed。 She glanced furtively
at Mary； who still sat by the window with her arm
upon the sill。 She noticed how young she was and full of
the promise of womanhood。 The sight made her so uneasy
that she fidgeted the cups upon their saucers。
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“Yes—enough work to last a lifetime；” said Mary； as if
concluding some passage of thought。
Mrs。 Seal brightened at once。 She lamented her lack of
scientific training； and her deficiency in the processes of
logic； but she set her mind to work at once to make the
prospects of the cause appear as alluring and important
as she could。 She delivered herself of an harangue in
which she asked a great many rhetorical questions and
answered them with a little bang of one fist upon another。
“To last a lifetime？ My dear child； it will last all our
lifetimes。 As one falls another steps into the breach。 My
father； in his generation； a pioneer—I； ing after him；
do my little best。 What； alas！ can one do more？ And now
it’s you young women—we look to you—the future looks
to you。 Ah； my dear； if I’d a thousand lives； I’d give them
all to our cause。 The cause of women； d’you say？ I say the
cause of humanity。 And there are some”—she glanced
fiercely at the window—”who don’t see it！ There are some
who are satisfied to go on； year after year； refusing to
admit the truth。 And we who have the vision—the kettle
boiling over？ No； no； let me see to it—we who know the
truth；” she continued； gesticulating with the kettle and
the teapot。 Owing to these encumbrances； perhaps； she
lost the thread of her discourse； and concluded； rather
wistfully； “It’s all so simple。” She referred to a matter
that was a perpetual source of bewilderment to her—the
extraordinary incapacity of the human race； in a world
where the good is so unmistakably divided from the bad；
of distinguishing one from the other； and embodying what
ought to be done in a few large； simple Acts of Parliament；
which would； in a very short time； pletely
change the lot of humanity。
“One would have thought；” she said； “that men of University
training； like Mr。 Asquith—one would have thought that
an appeal to reason would not be unheard by them。 But
reason；” she reflected； “what is reason without Reality？”
Doing homage to the phrase； she repeated it once more；
and caught the ear of Mr。 Clacton； as he issued from his
room； and he repeated it a third time； giving it； as he
was in the habit of doing with Mrs。 Seal’s phrases； a dryly
humorous intonation。 He was well pleased with the world；
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Night and Day
however； and he remarked； in a flattering manner； that
he would like to see that phrase in large letters at the
head of a leaflet。
“But； Mrs。 Seal； we have to aim at a judicious bination
of the two；” he added in his magisterial way to check
the unbalanced enthusiasm of the women。 “Reality has to
be voiced by reason before it can make itself felt。 The
weak point of all these movements； Miss Datchet；” he continued；
taking his place at the table and turning to Mary
as usual when about to deliver his more profound cogitations；
“is that they are not based upon sufficiently intellectual
grounds。 A mistake； in my opinion。 The British public
likes a pellet of reason in its jam of eloquence—a pill of
reason in its pudding of sentiment；” he said； sharpening
the phrase to a satisfactory degree of literary precision。
His eyes rested； with something of the vanity of an
author； upon the yellow leaflet which Mary held in her
hand。 She rose； took her seat at the head of the table；
poured out tea for her colleagues； and gave her opinion
upon the leaflet。 So she had poured out tea； so she had
criticized Mr。 Clacton’s leaflets a hundred times already；
but now it seemed to her that she was doing it in a
different spirit； she had enlisted in the army； and was a
volunteer no longer。 She had renounced something and
was now—how could she express it？；—not quite “in the
running” for life。 She had always known that Mr。 Clacton
and Mrs。 Seal were not in the running； and across the
gulf that separated them she had seen them in the guise
of shadow people； flitting in and out of the ranks of the
living—eccentrics； undeveloped human beings； from
whose substance some essential part had been cut away。
All this had never struck her so clearly as it did this afternoon；
when she felt that her lot was cast with them for
ever。 One view of the world plunged in darkness； so a
more volatile temperament might have argued after a
season of despair； let the world turn again and show another；
more splendid； perhaps。 No； Mary thought； with
unflinching loyalty to what appeared to her to be the
true view； having lost what is best； I do not mean to
pretend that any other view does instead。 Whatever happens；
I mean to have no presences in my life。 Her very
words had a sort of distinctness which is sometimes pro
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Virginia Woolf
duced by sharp； bodily pain。 To Mrs。 Seal’s secret jubilation
the rule which forbade discussion of shop at teatime
was overlooked。 Mary and Mr。 Clacton argued with a
cogency and a ferocity which made the little woman feel
that something very important—she hardly knew what—
was taking place。 She became much excited； one crucifix
became entangled with another； and she dug a considerable
hole in the table with the point of her pencil in
order to emphasize the most striking heads of the discourse；
and how any bination of Cabi Ministers
could resist such discourse she really did not know。
She could hardly bring herself to remember her own
private instrument of justice—the typewriter。 The telephone
bell rang； and as she hurried off to answer a voice
which always seemed a proof of importance by itself； she
felt that it was at this exact spot on the surface of the
globe that all the subterranean wires of thought and
progress came together。 When she returned； with a message
from the printer； she found that Mary was putting
on her hat firmly； there was something imperious and
dominating in her attitude altogether。
“Look； Sally；” she said； “these letters want copying。
These I’ve not looked at。 The question of the new census
will have to be gone into carefully。 But I’m going home
now。 Good night； Mr。 Clacton； good night； Sally。”
“We are very fortunate in our secretary； Mr。 Clacton；”
said Mrs。 Seal； pausing with her hand on the papers； as
the door shut behind Mary。 Mr。 Clacton himself had been
vaguely impressed by something in Mary’s behavior towards
him。 He envisaged a time even when it would bee
necessary to tell her that there could not be two
masters in one office—but she was certainly able； very
able； and in touch with a group of very clever young
men。 No doubt they had suggested to her some of her
new ideas。
He signified his assent to Mrs。 Seal’s remark； but observed；
with a glance at the clock； which showed only
half an hour past five：
“If she takes the work seriously； Mrs。 Seal—but that’s
just what some of your clever young ladies don’t do。” So
saying he returned to his room； and Mrs。 Seal； after a
moment’s hesitation； hurried back to her labors。
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Night and Day
CHAPTER XXI
Mary walked to the nearest station and reached home in
an incredibly short space of time； just so much； indeed；
as was needed for the intelligent understanding of the
news of the world as the “Westminster Gazette” reported
it。 Within a few minutes of opening her door； she was in
trim for a hard evening’s work。 She unlocked a drawer
and took out a manuscript； which consisted of a very few
pages； entitled； in a forcible hand； “Some Aspects of the
Democratic State。” The aspects dwindled out in a cries
cross of blotted lines in the very middle of a sentence；
and suggested that the author had been interrupted； or
convinced of the futility of proceeding； with her pen in
the air… 。 Oh； yes； Ralph had e in at that point。 She
scored that sheet very effectively； and； choosing a fresh
one； began at a great rate with a generalization upon the
structure of human society； which was a good deal bolder
than her custom。 Ralph had told her once that she couldn’t
write English； which accounted for those frequent blots
and insertions； but she put all that behind her； and drove
ahead with such words as came her way； until she had
acplished half a page of generalization and might
legitimately draw breath。 Directly her hand stopped her
brain stopped too； and she began to listen。 A paperboy
shouted down the street； an omnibus ceased and lurched
on again with the heave of duty once more shouldered；
the dullness of the sounds suggested that a fog had risen
since her return； if； indeed； a fog has power to deaden
sound； of which fact； she could not be sure at the present
moment。 It was the sort of fact Ralph Denham knew。 At
any rate； it was no concern of hers； and she was about to
dip a pen when her ear was caught by the sound of a step
upon the stone staircase。 She followed it past Mr。 Chippen’s
chambers； past M