getting into the swing of work of a morning； putting forth all
her strength； making the thing go。 It was for her a strenuous
form of exercise。 And her soul was left to rest； it had the time
of torpor in which to gather itself together in strength again。
But the teaching hours were too long； the tasks too heavy； and
the disciplinary condition of the school too unnatural for her。
She was worn very thin and quivering。
She came to school in the morning seeing the hawthorn flowers
wet； the little； rosy grains swimming in a bowl of dew。 The
larks quivered their song up into the new sunshine； and the
country was so glad。 It was a violation to plunge into the dust
and greyness of the town。
So that she stood before her class unwilling to give herself
up to the activity of teaching； to turn her energy； that longed
for the country and for joy of early summer； into the dominating
of fifty children and the transferring to them some morsels of
arithmetic。 There was a little absentness about her。 She could
not force herself into forgetfulness。 A jar of buttercups and
fool's…parsley in the window…bottom kept her away in the
meadows； where in the lush grass the moon…daisies were
half…submerged； and a spray of pink ragged robin。 Yet before her
were faces of fifty children。 They were almost like big daisies
in a dimness of the grass。
A brightness was on her face； a little unreality in her
teaching。 She could not quite see her children。 She was
struggling between two worlds； her own world of young summer and
flowers； and this other world of work。 And the glimmer of her
own sunlight was between her and her class。
Then the morning passed with a strange far…awayness and
quietness。 Dinner…time came； when she and Maggie ate joyously；
with all the windows open。 And then they went out into St。
Philip's churchyard； where was a shadowy corner under red
hawthorn trees。 And there they talked and read Shelley or
Browning or some work about 〃Woman and Labour〃。
And when she went back to school； Ursula lived still in the
shadowy corner of the graveyard； where pink…red petals lay
scattered from the hawthorn tree； like myriad tiny shells on a
beach； and a church bell sometimes rang sonorously； and
sometimes a bird called out； whilst Maggie's voice went on low
and sweet。
These days she was happy in her soul： oh； she was so happy；
that she wished she could take her joy and scatter it in armfuls
broadcast。 She made her children happy； too； with a little
tingling of delight。 But to her； the children were not a school
class this afternoon。 They were flowers； birds； little bright
animals； children； anything。 They only were not Standard Five。
She felt no responsibility for them。 It was for once a game；
this teaching。 And if they got their sums wrong； what matter？
And she would take a pleasant bit of reading。 And instead of
history with dates； she would tell a lovely tale。 And for
grammar； they could have a bit of written analysis that was not
difficult； because they had done it before：
〃She shall be sportive as a fawn
That wild with glee across the lawn
Or up the mountain springs。〃
She wrote that from memory； because it pleased her。
So the golden afternoon passed away and she went home happy。
She had finished her day of school； and was free to plunge into
the glowing evening of Cossethay。 And she loved walking home。
But it had not been school。 It had been playing at school
beneath red hawthorn blossom。
She could not go on like this。 The quarterly examination was
ing； and her class was not ready。 It irritated her that she
must drag herself away from her happy self； and exert herself
with all her strength to force； to pel this heavy class of
children to work hard at arithmetic。 They did not want to work；
she did not want to pel them。 And yet； some second conscience
gnawed at her； telling her the work was not properly done。 It
irritated her almost to madness； and she let loose all the
irritation in the class。 Then followed a day of battle and hate
and violence； when she went home raw； feeling the golden evening
taken away from her； herself incarcerated in some dark； heavy
place； and chained there with a consciousness of having done
badly at work。
What good was it that it was summer； that right till evening；
when the corncrakes called； the larks would mount up into the
light； to sing once more before nightfall。 What good was it all；
when she was out of tune； when she must only remember the burden
and shame of school that day。
And still； she hated school。 Still she cried； she did not
believe in it。 Why should the children learn； and why should she
teach them？ It was all so much milling the wind。 What folly was
it that made life into this； the fulfilling of some stupid；
factitious duty？ It was all so made up； so unnatural。 The
school； the sums； the grammar； the quarterly examinations； the
registers……it was all a barren nothing！
Why should she give her allegiance to this world； and let it
so dominate her； that her own world of warm sun and growing；
sap…filled life was turned into nothing？ She was not going to do
it。 She was not going to be a prisoner in the dry； tyrannical
man…world。 She was not going to care about it。 What did it
matter if her class did ever so badly in the quarterly
examination。 Let it……what did it matter？
Nevertheless； when the time came； and the report on her class
was bad； she was miserable； and the joy of the summer was taken
away from her； she was shut up in gloom。 She could not really
escape from this world of system and work； out into her fields
where she was happy。 She must have her place in the working
world； be a recognized member with full rights there。 It was
more important to her than fields and sun and poetry； at this
time。 But she was only the more its enemy。
It was a very difficult thing； she thought； during the long
hours of intermission in the summer holidays； to be herself； her
happy self that enjoyed so much to lie in the sun； to play and
swim and be content； and also to be a school…teacher getting
results out of a class of children。 She dreamed fondly of the
time when she need not be a teacher any more。 But vaguely； she
knew that responsibility had taken place in her for ever； and as
yet her prime business was to work。
The autumn passed away； the winter was at hand。 Ursula became
more and more an inhabitant of the world of work； and of what is
called life。 She could not see her future； but a little way off；
was college； and to the thought of this she clung fixedly。 She
would go to college； and get her two or three years' training；
free of cost。 Already she had applied and had her place
appointed for the ing year。
So she continued to study for her degree。 She would take
French； Latin； English； mathematics and botany。 She went to
classes in Ilkeston； she studied at evening。 For there was this
world to conquer； this knowledge to acquire； this qualification
to attain。 And she worked with intensity； because of a want
inside her that drove her on。 Almost everything was subordinated
now to this one desire to take her place in the world。 What kind
of place it was to be she did not ask herself。 The blind desire
drove her on。 She must take her place。
She knew she would never be much of a success as an
elementary school teacher。 But neither had she failed。 She hated
it； but she had managed it。
Maggie had left St。 Philip's School； and had found a more
congenial post。 The two girls remained friends。 They met at
evening classes； they studied and somehow encouraged a firm hope
each in the other。 They did not know whither they were making；
nor what they ultimately wanted。 But they knew they wanted now
to learn； to know and to do。
They talked of love and marriage； and the position of woman
in marriage。 Maggie said that love was the flower of life； and
blossomed unexpectedly and without law； and must be plucked
where it was found； and enjoyed for the brief hour of its
duration。
To Ursula this was unsatisfactory。 She thought she still
loved Anton Skrebensky。 But she did not forgive him that he had
not been strong enough to acknowledge her。 He had denied her。
How then could sh