〃She was here yesterday； wasn't she？〃
〃Yes。〃
〃It's no good her ing……her character's not good
enough for her to make any trouble。〃
Ursula shrank from the brutality and the scandal。 But it had
some vague； horrid fascination。 How sordid everything seemed！
She felt sorry for the queer woman with the lingering walk； and
those queer； insidious boys。 The Williams in her class was wrong
somewhere。 How nasty it was altogether。
So the battle went on till her heart was sick。 She had
several more boys to subjugate before she could establish
herself。 And Mr。 Harby hated her almost as if she were a man。
She knew now that nothing but a thrashing would settle some of
the big louts who wanted to play cat and mouse with her。 Mr。
Harby would not give them the thrashing if he could help it。 For
he hated the teacher； the stuck…up； insolent high…school miss
with her independence。
〃Now； Wright； what have you done this time？〃 he would say
genially to the boy who was sent to him from Standard Five for
punishment。 And he left the lad standing； lounging； wasting his
time。
So that Ursula would appeal no more to the headmaster； but；
when she was driven wild； she seized her cane； and slashed the
boy who was insolent to her； over head and ears and hands。 And
at length they were afraid of her； she had them in order。
But she had paid a great price out of her own soul； to do
this。 It seemed as if a great flame had gone through her and
burnt her sensitive tissue。 She who shrank from the thought of
physical suffering in any form； had been forced to fight and
beat with a cane and rouse all her instincts to hurt。 And
afterwards she had been forced to endure the sound of their
blubbering and desolation； when she had broken them to
order。
Oh； and sometimes she felt as if she would go mad。 What did
it matter； what did it matter if their books were dirty and they
did not obey？ She would rather； in reality； that they disobeyed
the whole rules of the school； than that they should be beaten；
broken； reduced to this crying； hopeless state。 She would rather
bear all their insults and insolences a thousand times than
reduce herself and them to this。 Bitterly she repented having
got beside herself； and having tackled the boy she had
beaten。
Yet it had to be so。 She did not want to do it。 Yet she had
to。 Oh； why； why had she leagued herself to this evil system
where she must brutalize herself to live？ Why had she bee a
school…teacher； why； why？
The children had forced her to the beatings。 No； she did not
pity them。 She had e to them full of kindness and love； and
they would have torn her to pieces。 They chose Mr。 Harby。 Well
then； they must know her as well as Mr。 Harby； they must first
be subjugate to her。 For she was not going to be made nought；
no； neither by them； nor by Mr。 Harby； nor by all the system
around her。 She was not going to be put down； prevented from
standing free。 It was not to be said of her； she could not take
her place and carry out her task。 She would fight and hold her
place in this state also； in the world of work and man's
convention。
She was isolated now from the life of her childhood； a
foreigner in a new life； of work and mechanical consideration。
She and Maggie； in their dinner…hours and their occasional teas
at the little restaurant； discussed life and ideas。 Maggie was a
great suffragette； trusting in the vote。 To Ursula the vote was
never a reality。 She had within her the strange； passionate
knowledge of religion and living far transcending the limits of
the automatic system that contained the vote。 But her
fundamental； organic knowledge had as yet to take form and rise
to utterance。 For her； as for Maggie； the liberty of woman meant
something real and deep。 She felt that somewhere； in something；
she was not free。 And she wanted to be。 She was in revolt。 For
once she were free she could get somewhere。 Ah； the wonderful；
real somewhere that was beyond her； the somewhere that she felt
deep； deep inside her。
In ing out and earning her own living she had made a
strong； cruel move towards freeing herself。 But having more
freedom she only became more profoundly aware of the big want。
She wanted so many things。 She wanted to read great； beautiful
books； and be rich with them； she wanted to see beautiful
things； and have the joy of them for ever； she wanted to know
big； free people； and there remained always the want she could
put no name to。
It was so difficult。 There were so many things； so much to
meet and surpass。 And one never knew where one was going。 It was
a blind fight。 She had suffered bitterly in this school of St。
Philip's。 She was like a young filly that has been broken in to
the shafts； and has lost its freedom。 And now she was suffering
bitterly from the agony of the shafts。 The agony； the galling；
the ignominy of her breaking in。 This wore into her soul。 But
she would never submit。 To shafts like these she would never
submit for long。 But she would know them。 She would serve them
that she might destroy them。
She and Maggie went to all kinds of places together； to big
suffrage meetings in Nottingham； to concerts； to theatres； to
exhibitions of pictures。 Ursula saved her money and bought a
bicycle； and the two girls rode to Lincoln； to Southwell； and
into Derbyshire。 They had an endless wealth of things to talk
about。 And it was a great joy； finding； discovering。
But Ursula never told about Winifred Inger。 That was a sort
of secret side…show to her life； never to be opened。 She did not
even think of it。 It was the closed door she had not the
strength to open。
Once she was broken in to her teaching； Ursula began
gradually to have a new life of her own again。 She was going to
college in eighteen months' time。 Then she would take her
degree； and she would……ah； she would perhaps be a big
woman； and lead a movement。 Who knows？……At any rate she
would go to college in eighteen months' time。 All that mattered
now was work； work。
And till college； she must go on with this teaching in St。
Philip's School； which was always destroying her； but which she
could now manage； without spoiling all her life。 She would
submit to it for a time； since the time had a definite
limit。
The class…teaching itself at last became almost mechanical。
It was a strain on her； an exhausting wearying strain； always
unnatural。 But there was a certain amount of pleasure in the
sheer oblivion of teaching； so much work to do； so many children
to see after； so much to be done； that one's self was forgotten。
When the work had bee like habit to her； and her individual
soul was left out； had its growth elsewhere； then she could be
almost happy。
Her real； individual self drew together and became more
coherent during these two years of teaching； during the struggle
against the odds of class teaching。 It was always a prison to
her； the school。 But it was a prison where her wild； chaotic
soul became hard and independent。 When she was well enough and
not tired； then she did not hate the teaching。 She enjoyed
getting into the swing of work of a morning； putting forth all
her strength； making the thing go。 It was for her a strenuo