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 tram…car 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 mounted……a 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
shirt…sleeves 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 violet…coloured 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 needle…points of vision。
〃Twenty…five 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
white…and…scribbled sheets on the table。
〃Must you do so many？〃 asked Ursula。
Again the man glanced up sharply。 He was about thirty or
thirty…three 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。
〃Sixty…three；〃 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； keen…edge 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； neutral…tinted young woman of
about twenty…eight 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； dun…coloured 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
morning；……pack of kids trailing in anyhow…nohow； and no
holding 'em〃
She had taken a black pinafore from a newspaper package； and
was tying it round her waist。
〃You've brought an apron； haven't you？〃 she said jerkily；
glancing at Ursula。 〃Oh……you'll want one。 You've no idea
what a sight you'll look before half…past four； what with chalk
and ink and kids' dirty feet。……Well； I can send a boy down
to mamma's for one。〃
〃Oh； it doesn't matter；〃 said Ursula。
〃Oh； yes……I can send easily；〃 cried Miss Harby。
Ursula's heart sank。 Everybody seemed so cocksure and so
bossy。 How was she going to get on with such jolty； jerky； bossy
people？ And Miss Harby had not spoken a word to the man at the
table。 She simply ignored him。 Ursula felt the callous crude
rudeness between the two teachers。
The two girls went out