stop at home。〃
〃Nobody wants you to stop at home；〃 he suddenly shouted；
going livid with rage。
She said no more。 Her nature had gone hard and smiling in its
own arrogance； in its own antagonistic indifference to the rest
of them。 This was the state in which he wanted to kill her。 She
went singing into the parlour。
C'est la mere Michel qui a perdu son chat；
Qui cri par la fere qu'estce qui le lue renda〃
During the next days Ursula went about bright and hard；
singing to herself； making love to the children； but her soul
hard and cold with regard to her parents。 Nothing more was said。
The hardness and brightness lasted for four days。 Then it began
to break up。 So at evening she said to her father：
〃Have you spoken about a place for me？〃
〃I spoke to Mr。 Burt。〃
〃What did he say？〃
〃There's a mittee meeting tomorrow。 He'll tell me on
Friday。〃
So she waited till Friday。 KingstononThames had been an
exciting dream。 Here she could feel the hard； raw reality。 So
she knew that this would e to pass。 Because nothing was ever
fulfilled； she found； except in the hard limited reality。 She
did not want to be a teacher in Ilkeston； because she knew
Ilkeston； and hated it。 But she wanted to be free； so she must
take her freedom where she could。
On Friday her father said there was a place vacant in
Brinsley Street school。 This could most probably be secured for
her； at once； without the trouble of application。
Her heart halted。 Brinsley Street was a school in a poor
quarter； and she had had a taste of the mon children of
Ilkeston。 They had shouted after her and thrown stones。 Still；
as a teacher； she would be in authority。 And it was all unknown。
She was excited。 The very forest of dry； sterile brick had some
fascination for her。 It was so hard and ugly； so relentlessly
ugly； it would purge her of some of her floating
sentimentality。
She dreamed how she would make the little； ugly children love
her。 She would be so personal。 Teachers were always so
hard and impersonal。 There was no vivid relationship。 She would
make everything personal and vivid； she would give herself； she
would give； give； give all her great stores of wealth to her
children； she would make them so happy； and they would prefer
her to any teacher on the face of the earth。
At Christmas she would choose such fascinating Christmas
cards for them； and she would give them such a happy party in
one of the classrooms。
The headmaster； Mr。 Harby； was a short； thickset； rather
mon man； she thought。 But she would hold before him the light
of grace and refinement； he would have her in such high esteem
before long。 She would be the gleaming sun of the school； the
children would blossom like little weeds； the teachers like
tall； hard plants would burst into rare flower。
The Monday morning came。 It was the end of September； and a
drizzle of fine rain like veils round her； making her seem
intimate； a world to herself。 She walked forward to the new
land。 The old was blotted out。 The veil would be rent that hid
the new world。 She was gripped hard with suspense as she went
down the hill in the rain； carrying her dinnerbag。
Through the thin rain she saw the town； a black； extensive
mount。 She must enter in upon it。 She felt at once a feeling of
repugnance and of excited fulfilment。 But she shrank。
She waited at the terminus for the tram。 Here it was
beginning。 Before her was the station to Nottingham； whence
Theresa had gone to school half an hour before； behind her was
the little church school she had attended when she was a child；
when her grandmother was alive。 Her grandmother had been dead
two years now。 There was a strange woman at the Marsh； with her
Uncle Fred； and a small baby。 Behind her was Cossethay； and
blackberries were ripe on the hedges。
As she waited at the tramterminus she reverted swiftly to
her childhood； her teasing grandfather； with his fair beard and
blue eyes； and his big； monumental body； he had got drowned： her
grandmother； whom Ursula would sometimes say she had loved more
than anyone else in the world： the little church school； the
Phillips boys； one was a soldier in the Life Guards now； one was
a collier。 With a passion she clung to the past。
But as she dreamed of it； she heard the tramcar grinding
round a bend； rumbling dully； she saw it draw into sight； and
hum nearer。 It sidled round the loop at the terminus； and came
to a standstill； looming above her。 Some shadowy grey people
stepped from the far end； the conductor was walking in the
puddles； swinging round the pole。
She mounted into the wet； fortless tram； whose floor was
dark with wet； whose windows were all steamed； and she sat in
suspense。 It had begun； her new existence。
One other passenger mounteda sort of charwoman with a
drab； wet coat。 Ursula could not bear the waiting of the tram。
The bell clanged； there was a lurch forward。 The car moved
cautiously down the wet street。 She was being carried forward；
into her new existence。 Her heart burned with pain and suspense；
as if something were cutting her living tissue。
Often； oh often the tram seemed to stop； and wet； cloaked
people mounted and sat mute and grey in stiff rows opposite her；
their umbrellas between their knees。 The windows of the tram
grew more steamy； opaque。 She was shut in with these unliving；
spectral people。 Even yet it did not occur to her that she was
one of them。 The conductor came down issuing tickets。 Each
little ring of his clipper sent a pang of dread through her。 But
her ticket surely was different from the rest。
They were all going to work； she also was going to work。 Her
ticket was the same。 She sat trying to fit in with them。 But
fear was at her bowels； she felt an unknown； terrible grip upon
her。
At Bath Street she must dismount and change trams。 She looked
uphill。 It seemed to lead to freedom。 She remembered the many
Saturday afternoons she had walked up to the shops。 How free and
careless she had been！
Ah； her tram was sliding gingerly downhill。 She dreaded every
yard of her conveyance。 The car halted； she mounted hastily。
She kept turning her head as the car ran on； because she was
uncertain of the street。 At last； her heart a flame of suspense；
trembling； she rose。 The conductor rang the bell brusquely。
She was walking down a small； mean； wet street； empty of
people。 The school squatted low within its railed； asphalt yard；
that shone black with rain。 The building was grimy； and
horrible； dry plants were shadowily looking through the
windows。
She entered the arched doorway of the porch。 The whole place
seemed to have a threatening expression； imitating the church's
architecture； for the purpose of domineering； like a gesture of
vulgar authority。 She saw that one pair of feet had paddled
across the flagstone floor of the porch。 The place was silent；
deserted； like an empty prison waiting the return of tramping
feet。
Ursula went forward to the teachers' room that burrowed in a
gloomy hole。 She knocked timidly。
〃e in！〃 called a surprised man's voice； as from a prison
cell。 She entered the dark little room that never got any sun。
The gas was lighted naked and raw。 At the table a thin man in
shirtsleeves was rubbing a paper on a jellytray。 He looked up
at Ursula with his narrow； sharp face； said 〃Good morning；〃 then
turned away again； and stripped the paper off the tray； glancing
at the violetcoloured writing transferred； before he dropped
the curled sheet aside among a heap。
Ursula watched him fascinated。 In the gaslight and gloom and
the narrowness of the room； all seemed unreal。
〃Isn't it a nasty morning；〃 she said。
〃Yes；〃 he said； 〃it's not much of weather。〃
But in here it seemed that neither morning nor weather really
existed。 This place was timeless。 He spoke in an occupied voice；
like an echo。 Ursula did not know what to say。 She took off her
waterproof。
〃Am I early？〃 she asked。
The man looked first at a little clock； then at her。 His eyes
seemed to be sharpened to needlepoints of vision。
〃Twentyfive past；〃 he said。 〃You're the second to e。 I'm
first this morning。〃
Ursula sat down gingerly on the edge of a chair； and watched
his thin red hands rubbing away on the white surface of the
paper； then pausing； pulling up a corner of the sheet； peering；
and rubbing away again。 There was a great heap of curled
whiteandscribbled sheets on the table。
〃Must you do so many？〃 asked Ursula。
Again the man glanced up sharply。 He was about thirty or
thirtythree years old； thin； greenish； with a long nose and a
sharp face。 His eyes were blue； and sharp as points of steel；
rather beautiful； the girl thought。
〃Sixtythree；〃 he answered。
〃So many！〃 she said； gently。 Then she remembered。
〃But they're not all for your class； are they？〃 she
added。
〃Why aren't they？〃 he replied； a fierceness in his voice。
Ursula was rather frightened by his mechanical ignoring of
her； and his directness of statement。 It was something new to
her。 She had never been treated like this before； as if she did
not count； as if she were addressing a machine。
〃It is too many；〃 she said sympathetically。
〃You'll get about the same；〃 he said。
That was all she received。 She sat rather blank； not knowing
how to feel。 Still she liked him。 He seemed so cross。 There was
a queer； sharp； keenedge feeling about him that attracted her
and frightened her at the same time。 It was so cold； and against
his nature。
The door opened； and a short； neutraltinted young woman of
about twentyeight appeared。
〃Oh； Ursula！〃 the newer exclaimed。 〃You are here early！ My
word； I'll warrant you don't keep it up。 That's Mr。 Williamson's
peg。 This is yours。 Standard Five teacher always has this。
Aren't you going to take your hat off？〃
Miss Violet Harby removed Ursula's waterproof from the peg on
which it was hung； to one a little farther down the row。 She had
already snatched the pins from her own stuff hat； and jammed
them through her coat。 She turned to Ursula； as she pushed up
her frizzed； flat； duncoloured hair。
〃Isn't it a beastly morning；〃 she exclaimed； 〃beastly！ And if
there's one thing I hate above another it's a wet Monday
morn