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invincibility of her youth； which ignored him； made him also
harden with anger。
〃And how do you think you're going to earn anything？〃
he asked。
〃I can bee a teacherI'm qualified by my
matric。〃
He wished her matric。 in hell。
〃And how much are you qualified to earn by your matric。？〃 he
asked； jeering。
〃Fifty pounds a year；〃 she said。
He was silent； his power taken out of his hand。
He had always hugged a secret pride in the fact that his
daughters need not go out to work。 With his wife's money and his
own they had four hundred a year。 They could draw on the capital
if need be later on。 He was not afraid for his old age。 His
daughters might be ladies。
Fifty pounds a year was a pound a weekwhich was enough
for her to live on independently。
〃And what sort of a teacher do you think you'd make？ You
haven't the patience of a Jackgnat with your own brothers and
sisters； let alone with a class of children。 And I thought you
didn't like dirty； boardschool brats。〃
〃They're not all dirty。〃
〃You'd find they're not all clean。〃
There was silence in the workshop。 The lamplight fell on the
burned silver bowl that lay between him； on mallet and furnace
and chisel。 Brangwen stood with a queer； catlike light on his
face； almost like a smile。 But it was no smile。
〃Can I try？〃 she said。
〃You can do what the deuce you like； and go where you
like。〃
Her face was fixed and expressionless and indifferent。 It
always sent him to a pitch of frenzy to see it like that。 He
kept perfectly still。
Cold； without any betrayal of feeling； she turned and left
the shed。 He worked on； with all his nerves jangled。 Then he had
to put down his tools and go into the house。
In a bitter tone of anger and contempt he told his wife。
Ursula was present。 There was a brief altercation； closed by
Mrs。 Brangwen's saying； in a tone of biting superiority and
indifference：
〃Let her find out what it's like。 She'll soon have had
enough。〃
The matter was left there。 But Ursula considered herself free
to act。 For some days she made no move。 She was reluctant to
take the cruel step of finding work； for she shrank with extreme
sensitiveness and shyness from new contact； new situations。 Then
at length a sort of doggedness drove her。 Her soul was full of
bitterness。
She went to the Free Library in Ilkeston； copied out
addresses from the Schoolmistress； and wrote for
application forms。 After two days she rose early to meet the
postman。 As she expected； there were three long envelopes。
Her heart beat painfully as she went up with them to her
bedroom。 Her fingers trembled； she could hardly force herself to
look at the long； official forms she had to fill in。 The whole
thing was so cruel； so impersonal。 Yet it must be done。
〃Name （surname first）：。。。〃
In a trembling hand she wrote； 〃Brangwen；Ursula。〃
〃Age and date of birth：。。。〃
After a long time considering； she filled in that line。
〃Qualifications； with date of Examination：。。。〃
With a little pride she wrote：
〃London Matriculation Examination。〃
〃Previous experience and where obtained：。。。〃
Her heart sank as she wrote：
〃None。〃
Still there was much to answer。 It took her two hours to fill
in the three forms。 Then she had to copy her testimonials from
her headmistress and from the clergyman。
At last； however； it was finished。 She had sealed the three
long envelopes。 In the afternoon she went down to Ilkeston to
post them。 She said nothing of it all to her parents。 As she
stamped her long letters and put them into the box at the main
postoffice she felt as if already she was out of the reach of
her father and mother； as if she had connected herself with the
outer； greater world of activity； the manmade world。
As she returned home； she dreamed again in her own fashion
her old； geous dreams。 One of her applications was to
Gillingham； in Kent； one to KingstononThames； and one to
Swanwick in Derbyshire。
Gillingham was such a lovely name； and Kent was the Garden of
England。 So that； in Gillingham； an old； old village by the
hopfields； where the sun shone softly； she came out of school in
the afternoon into the shadow of the plane trees by the gate；
and turned down the sleepy road towards the cottage where
cornflowers poked their blue heads through the old wooden fence；
and phlox stood built up of blossom beside the path。
A delicate； silverhaired lady rose with delicate； ivory
hands uplifted as Ursula entered the room； and：
〃Oh； my dear； what do you think！〃
〃What is it； Mrs。 Wetherall？〃
Frederick had e home。 Nay； his manly step was heard on the
stair； she saw his strong boots； his blue trousers； his
uniformed figure； and then his face； clean and keen as an
eagle's； and his eyes lit up with the glamour of strange seas；
ah； strange seas that had woven through his soul； as he
descended into the kitchen。
This dream； with its amplifications； lasted her a mile of
walking。 Then she went to KingstononThames。
KingstononThames was an old historic place just south of
London。 There lived the wellborn dignified souls who belonged
to the metropolis； but who loved peace。 There she met a
wonderful family of girls living in a large old Queen Anne
house； whose lawns sloped to the river； and in an atmosphere of
stately peace she found herself among her soul's intimates。 They
loved her as sisters； they shared with her all noble
thoughts。
She was happy again。 In her musings she spread her poor；
clipped wings； and flew into the pure empyrean。
Day followed day。 She did not speak to her parents。 Then came
the return of her testimonials from Gillingham。 She was not
wanted； neither at Swanwick。 The bitterness of rejection
followed the sweets of hope。 Her bright feathers were in the
dust again。
Then； suddenly； after a fortnight； came an intimation from
KingstononThames。 She was to appear at the Education Office of
that town on the following Thursday； for an interview with the
mittee。 Her heart stood still。 She knew she would make the
mittee accept her。 Now she was afraid； now that her removal
was imminent。 Her heart quivered with fear and reluctance。 But
underneath her purpose was fixed。
She passed shadowily through the day； unwilling to tell her
news to her mother； waiting for her father。 Suspense and fear
were strong upon her。 She dreaded going to Kingston。 Her easy
dreams disappeared from the grasp of reality。
And yet； as the afternoon wore away； the sweetness of the
dream returned again。 KingstononThamesthere was such
sound of dignity to her。 The shadow of history and the glamour
of stately progress enveloped her。 The palaces would be old and
darkened； the place of kings obscured。 Yet it was a place of
kings for herRichard and Henry and Wolsey and Queen
Elizabeth。 She divined great lawns with noble trees； and
terraces whose steps the water washed softly； where the swans
sometimes came to earth。 Still she must see the stately；
geous barge of the Queen float down； the crimson carpet put
upon the landing stairs； the gentlemen in their purplevelvet
cloaks； bareheaded； standing in the sunshine grouped on either
side waiting。
〃Sweet Thames； run softly till I end my song。〃
Evening came； her father returned home； sanguine and alert
and detached as ever。 He was less real than her fancies。 She
waited whilst he ate his tea。 He took big mouthfuls； big bites；
and ate unconsciously with the same abandon an animal gives to
its food。
Immediately after tea he went over to the church。 It was
choirpractice； and he wanted to try the tunes on his an。
The latch of the big door clicked loudly as she came after
him； but the an rolled more loudly still。 He was unaware。 He
was practicing the anthem。 She saw his small； jetblack head and
alert face between the candleflames； his slim body sagged on
the musicstool。 His face was so luminous and fixed； the
movements of his limbs seemed strange； apart from him。 The sound
of the an seemed to belong to the very stone of the pillars；
like sap running in them。
Then there was a close of music and silence。
〃Father！〃 she said。
He looked round as if at an apparition。 Ursula stood
shadowily within the candlelight。
〃Wha