andmother, 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.

Often, oh often the tram seemed to stop, and wet, cloaked
people mounted and sat mute and grey in stiff rows opposite her,
their umbrellas between their knees. The windows of the tram
grew more steamy; opaque. She was shut in with these unliving,
spectral people. Even yet it did not occur to her that she was
one of them. The conductor came down issuing tickets. Each
little ring of his clipper sent a pang of dread through her. But
her ticket surely was different from the rest.

They were all going to work; she also was going to work. Her
ticket was the same. She sat trying to fit in with them. But
fear was at her bowels, she felt an unknown, terrible grip upon
her.

At Bath Street she must dismount and change trams. She looked
uphill. It seemed to lead to freedom. She remembered the many
Saturday afternoons she had walked up to the shops. How free and
careless she had been!

Ah, her tram was sliding gingerly downhill. She dreaded every
yard of her conveyance. The car halted, she mounted hastily.

She kept turning her head as the car ran on, because she was
uncertain of the street. At last, her heart a flame of suspense,
trembling, she rose. The conductor rang the bell brusquely.

She was walking down a small, mean, wet street, empty of
people. The school squatted low within its railed, asphalt yard,
that shone black with rain. The