he
stamped her long letters and put them into the box at the main
post-office she felt as if already she was out of the reach of
her father and mother, as if she had connected herself with the
outer, greater world of activity, the man-made world.

As she returned home, she dreamed again in her own fashion
her old, gorgeous dreams. One of her applications was to
Gillingham, in Kent, one to Kingston-on-Thames, and one to
Swanwick in Derbyshire.

Gillingham was such a lovely name, and Kent was the Garden of
England. So that, in Gillingham, an old, old village by the
hopfields, where the sun shone softly, she came out of school in
the afternoon into the shadow of the plane trees by the gate,
and turned down the sleepy road towards the cottage where
cornflowers poked their blue heads through the old wooden fence,
and phlox stood built up of blossom beside the path.

A delicate, silver-haired lady rose with delicate, ivory
hands uplifted as Ursula entered the room, and:

"Oh, my dear, what do you think!"

"What is it, Mrs. Wetherall?"

Frederick had come home. Nay, his manly step was heard on the
stair, she saw his strong boots, his blue trousers, his
uniformed figure, and then his face, clean and keen as an
eagle's, and his eyes lit up with the glamour of strange seas,
ah, strange seas that had woven through his soul, as he
descended into the kitchen.

This dream, with its amplifications, lasted her a mile of
walking. Then she went to Kingston-on-Thames.

Kingston-on-Thames was an old historic place just south of
London. There lived the well-born dignified souls who belonged
to the metropolis, but who loved peace. There she met a
wonderful family of girls living in a large old Queen Anne
house, whose lawns sloped to the river, and in an atmosphere of
stately peace she found herself among her soul's intimates. They
loved her as sisters, they shared with her all noble
thoughts.

She was happy again. In her musings she spread her poor,
clipped wings, and flew into the pure empyrean.

Day followed day. She did not speak to her parents. Then came
the return of her testimonials from Gillingham. She was not
wanted, neither at Swanwick. The bitterness of rejection
followed the sweets of hope. Her bright feathers were in the
dust again.

Then, suddenly, after a fortnight, came an intimation from
Kingston-on-Thames. She was to appear at the Education Office of
that town on the following Thursday, for an interview wi