"Oh, where's that?" he said.

"At Kingston-on-Thames. I must go on Thursday for an

interview with the Committee."

"You must go on Thursday?"

"Yes."

And she handed him the letter. He read it by the light of the

candles.

"Ursula Brangwen, Yew Tree Cottage, Cossethay,

Derbyshire.

"Dear Madam, You are requested to call at the above offices

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on Thursday next, the 10th, at 11.30 a.m., for an interview with

the committee, referring to your application for the post of

assistant mistress at the Wellingborough Green Schools."

It was very difficult for Brangwen to take in this remote and

official information, glowing as he was within the quiet of his

church and his anthem music.

"Well, you needn't bother me with it now, need you?' he said

impatiently, giving her back the letter.

"I've got to go on Thursday," she said.

He sat motionless. Then he reached more music, and there was

a rushing sound of air, then a long, emphatic trumpet-note of

the organ, as he laid his hands on the keys. Ursula turned and

went away.

He tried to give himself again to the organ. But he could

not. He could not get back. All the time a sort of string was

tugging, tugging him elsewhere, miserably.

So that when he came into the house after choir-practice his

face was dark and his heart black. He said nothing however,

until all the younger children were in bed. Ursula, however,

knew what was brewing.

At length he asked: "Where's that letter?"

She gave it to him. He sat looking at it. "You are requested

to call at the above offices on Thursday next----" It

was a cold, official notice to Ursula herself and had nothing to

do with him. So! She existed now as a separate social

individual. It was for her to answer this note, without regard

to him. He had even no right to interfere. His heart was hard

and angry.

"You had to do it behind our backs, had you?" he said, with a

sneer. And her heart leapt with hot pain. She knew she was

free--she had broken away from him. He was beaten.

"You said, 'let her try,'" she retorted, almost apologizing

to him.

He did not hear. He sat looking at the letter.

"Education Office, Kingston-on-Thames"--and then the

typewritten "Miss Ursula Brangwen, Yew Tree Cottage, Cossethay."

It was all so complete and so final. He could not but feel the

new position Ursula held, as recipient of that letter. It was an

iron in his soul.

"Well," he said at length, "you're not going."

Ursula started and could find no words to clamour her

revolt.

"If you think you're going dancin' off to th' other side of

London, you're mistaken."

"Why not?" she cried, at once hard fixed in her will to

go.




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