ly just opposite
the bicycle stand and the radiator, whilst the great
notice-board with its fluttering papers seemed to slam away all
sense of retreat and mystery from the far wall. Nevertheless,
amorphous as it might be, there was in it a reminiscence of the
wondrous, cloistral origin of education. Her soul flew straight
back to the medieval times, when the monks of God held the
learning of men and imparted it within the shadow of religion.
In this spirit she entered college.

The harshness and vulgarity of the lobbies and cloak-rooms
hurt her at first. Why was it not all beautiful? But she could
not openly admit her criticism. She was on holy ground.

She wanted all the students to have a high, pure spirit, she
wanted them to say only the real, genuine things, she wanted
their faces to be still and luminous as the nuns' and the monks'
faces.

Alas, the girls chattered and giggled and were nervous, they
were dressed up and frizzed, the men looked mean and
clownish.

Still, it was lovely to pass along the corridor with one's
books in one's hands, to push the swinging, glass-panelled door,
and enter the big room where the first lecture would be given.
The windows were large and lofty, the myriad brown students'
desks stood waiting, the great blackboard was smooth behind the
rostrum.

Ursula sat beside her window, rather far back. Looking down,
she saw the lime trees turning yellow, the tradesman's boy
passing silent down the still, autumn-sunny street. There was
the world, remote, remote.

Here, within the great, whispering sea-shell, that whispered
all the while with reminiscence of all the centuries, time faded
away, and the echo of knowledge filled the timeless silence.

She listened, she scribbled her notes with joy, almost with
ecstasy, never for a moment criticizing what she heard. The
lecturer was a mouth-piece, a priest. As he stood, black-gowned,
on the rostrum, some strands of the whispering confusion of
knowledge that filled the whole place seemed to be singled out
and woven together by him, till they became a lecture.

At first, she preserved herself from criticism. She would not
consider the professors as men, ordinary men who ate bacon, and
pulled on their boots before coming to college. They were the
black-gowned priests of knowledge, serving for ever in a remote,
hushed temple. They were the initiated, and the beginning and
the end of the mystery was in their keeping.

Curious joy she had