away, the winter was at hand. Ursula became
more and more an inhabitant of the world of work, and of what is
called life. She could not see her future, but a little way off,
was college, and to the thought of this she clung fixedly. She
would go to college, and get her two or three years' training,
free of cost. Already she had applied and had her place
appointed for the coming year.

So she continued to study for her degree. She would take
French, Latin, English, mathematics and botany. She went to
classes in Ilkeston, she studied at evening. For there was this
world to conquer, this knowledge to acquire, this qualification
to attain. And she worked with intensity, because of a want
inside her that drove her on. Almost everything was subordinated
now to this one desire to take her place in the world. What kind
of place it was to be she did not ask herself. The blind desire
drove her on. She must take her place.

She knew she would never be much of a success as an
elementary school teacher. But neither had she failed. She hated
it, but she had managed it.

Maggie had left St. Philip's School, and had found a more
congenial post. The two girls remained friends. They met at
evening classes, they studied and somehow encouraged a firm hope
each in the other. They did not know whither they were making,
nor what they ultimately wanted. But they knew they wanted now
to learn, to know and to do.

They talked of love and marriage, and the position of woman
in marriage. Maggie said that love was the flower of life, and
blossomed unexpectedly and without law, and must be plucked
where it was found, and enjoyed for the brief hour of its
duration.

To Ursula this was unsatisfactory. She thought she still
loved Anton Skrebensky. But she did not forgive him that he had
not been strong enough to acknowledge her. He had denied her.
How then could she love him? How then was love so absolute? She
did not believe it. She believed that love was a way, a means,
not an end in itself, as Maggie seemed to think. And always the
way of love would be found. But whither did it lead?

"I believe there are many men in the world one might
love--there is not only one man," said Ursula.

She was thinking of Skrebensky. Her heart was hollow with the
knowledge of Winifred Inger.

"But you must distinguish between love and passion," said
Maggie, adding, with a touch of contempt: "Men will easily have
a passion for you, but they won't love you