mood of organ-playing. He closed the music before him.

"I've got a situation to go to."

Then he turned to her, still abstracted, unwilling.

"Oh, where's that?" he said.

"At Kingston-on-Thames. I must go on Thursday for an
interview with the Committee."

"You must go on Thursday?"

"Yes."

And she handed him the letter. He read it by the light of the
candles.

"Ursula Brangwen, Yew Tree Cottage, Cossethay,
Derbyshire.

"Dear Madam, You are requested to call at the above offices
on Thursday next, the 10th, at 11.30 a.m., for an interview with
the committee, referring to your application for the post of
assistant mistress at the Wellingborough Green Schools."

It was very difficult for Brangwen to take in this remote and
official information, glowing as he was within the quiet of his
church and his anthem music.

"Well, you needn't bother me with it now, need you?' he said
impatiently, giving her back the letter.

"I've got to go on Thursday," she said.

He sat motionless. Then he reached more music, and there was
a rushing sound of air, then a long, emphatic trumpet-note of
the organ, as he laid his hands on the keys. Ursula turned and
went away.

He tried to give himself again to the organ. But he could
not. He could not get back. All the time a sort of string was
tugging, tugging him elsewhere, miserably.

So that when he came into the house after choir-practice his
face was dark and his heart black. He said nothing however,
until all the younger children were in bed. Ursula, however,
knew what was brewing.

At length he asked:

"Where's that letter?"

She gave it to him. He sat looking at it. "You are requested
to call at the above offices on Thursday next----" It
was a cold, official notice to Ursula herself and had nothing to
do with him. So! She existed now as a separate social
individual. It was for her to answer this note, without regard
to him. He had even no right to interfere. His heart was hard
and angry.

"You had to do it behind our backs, had you?" he said, with a
sneer. And her heart leapt with hot pain. She knew she was
free--she had broken away from him. He was beaten.

"You said, 'let her try,'" she retorted, almost apologizing
to him.

He did not hear. He sat looking at the letter.

"Education Office, Kingston-on-Thames"--and then the
typewritten "Miss Ursula Brangwen, Yew Tree Cottage, Cossethay."
It was all so complete and so final. He could not but feel the