At Christmas she would choose such fascinating Christmas
cards for them, and she would give them such a happy party in
one of the class-rooms.
The headmaster, Mr. Harby, was a short, thick-set, rather
common man, she thought. But she would hold before him the light
of grace and refinement, he would have her in such high esteem
before long. She would be the gleaming sun of the school, the
children would blossom like little weeds, the teachers like
tall, hard plants would burst into rare flower.
The Monday morning came. It was the end of September, and a
drizzle of fine rain like veils round her, making her seem
intimate, a world to herself. She walked forward to the new
land. The old was blotted out. The veil would be rent that hid
the new world. She was gripped hard with suspense as she went
down the hill in the rain, carrying her dinner-bag.
Through the thin rain she saw the town, a black, extensive
mount. She must enter in upon it. She felt at once a feeling of
repugnance and of excited fulfilment. But she shrank.
She waited at the terminus for the tram. Here it was
beginning. Before her was the station to Nottingham, whence
Theresa had gone to school half an hour before; behind her was
the little church school she had attended when she was a child,
when her grandmother was alive. Her grandmother had been dead
two years now. There was a strange woman at the Marsh, with her
Uncle Fred, and a small baby. Behind her was Cossethay, and
blackberries were ripe on the hedges.
As she waited at the tram-terminus she reverted swiftly to
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, comfortless 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.