her
shoulders. Her dark hair was tied behind, her yellow-brown eyes
shone without direction. Behind her, in the parlour, was the
soft light of a lamp upon open books.

A superficial readiness took her to her Uncle Tom, who kissed
her, greeting her with warmth, making a show of intimate
possession of her, and at the same time leaving evident his own
complete detachment.

But she wanted to turn to the stranger. He was standing back
a little, waiting. He was a young man with very clear greyish
eyes that waited until they were called upon, before they took
expression.

Something in his self-possessed waiting moved her, and she
broke into a confused, rather beautiful laugh as she gave him
her hand, catching her breath like an excited child. His hand
closed over hers very close, very near, he bowed, and his eyes
were watching her with some attention. She felt proud--her
spirit leapt to life.

"You don't know Mr. Skrebensky, Ursula," came her Uncle Tom's
intimate voice. She lifted her face with an impulsive flash to
the stranger, as if to declare a knowledge, laughing her
palpitating, excited laugh.

His eyes became confused with roused lights, his detached
attention changed to a readiness for her. He was a young man of
twenty-one, with a slender figure and soft brown hair brushed up
on the German fashion straight from his brow.

"Are you staying long?" she asked.

"I've got a month's leave," he said, glancing at Tom
Brangwen. "But I've various places I must go to--put in
some time here and there."

He brought her a strong sense of the outer world. It was as
if she were set on a hill and could feel vaguely the whole world
lying spread before her.

"What have you a month's leave from?" she asked.

"I'm in the Engineers--in the Army."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, glad.

"We're taking you away from your studies," said her
Uncle Tom.

"Oh, no," she replied quickly.

Skrebensky laughed, young and inflammable.

"She won't wait to be taken away," said her father. But that
seemed clumsy. She wished he would leave her to say her own
things.

"Don't you like study?" asked Skrebensky, turning to her,
putting the question from his own case.

"I like some things," said Ursula. "I like Latin and
French--and grammar."

He watched her, and all his being seemed attentive to her,
then he shook his head.

"I don't," he said. "They say all the brains of the army are
in the Engineers. I think that's why I joined them--to