"They'll do without you," he said.
There was a trembling silence when she was on the point of tears.
"Well," she said, low and tense, "you can put me off this, but I'm going to have a place. I'm not going to stop at home."
"Nobody wants you to stop at home," he suddenly shouted, going livid with rage.
She said no more. Her nature had gone hard and smiling in its own arrogance, in its own antagonistic indifference to the rest of them. This was the state in which he wanted to kill her. She went singing into the parlour.
"C'est la mère Michel qui a perdu son chat,
Qui cri par la fenêtre qu'est-ce qui le lui rendra"
During the next days Ursula went about bright and hard, singing to herself, making love to the children, but her soul hard and cold with regard to her parents. Nothing more was said. The hardness and brightness lasted for four days. Then it began to break up. So at evening she said to her father,
"Have you spoken about a place for me?"
"I spoke to Mr. Burt."
"What did he say?"
"There's a committee meeting to-morrow. He'll tell me on Friday."
So she waited till Friday. Kingston-on-Thames had been an exciting dream. Here she could feel the hard, raw reality. So she knew that this would come to pass. Because nothing was ever fulfilled, she found, except in the hard limited reality. She did not want to be a teacher in Ilkeston, because she knew Ilkeston, and hated it. But she wanted to be free, so she must take her freedom where she could.
On Friday her father said there was a place vacant in Brinsley Street school. This could most probably be secured for her, at once, without the trouble of application.
Her heart halted. Brinsley Street was a school in a poor quarter, and she had had a taste of the common children of Ilkeston. They had shouted after her and thrown stones. Still, as a teacher, she would be in authority. And it was all unknown. She was excited. The very forest of dry, sterile brick had some fascination for her. It was so hard and ugly,
