There was a moment of suspense. Ursula’s heart was beating so fast, she clung to the rail, and could not move. Her dilated, warm, unfolded, glowing face turned to the mistress, as if to her very sun. “Good-bye,” said Miss Inger, and she swam away to the other pupils, taking professional interest in them. Ursula was dazed. She could still feel the touch of the mistress’s body against her own—only this, only this. The rest of the swimming time passed like a trance. When the call was given to leave the water, Miss Inger walked down the bath towards Ursula. Her rust-red, thin tunic was clinging to her, the whole body was defined, firm and magnificent, as it seemed to the girl. “I enjoyed our race, Ursula, did you?” said Miss Inger. The girl could only laugh with revealed, open, glowing face. The love was now tacitly confessed. But it was some time before any further progress was made. Ursula continued in suspense, in inflamed bliss. Then one day, when she was alone, the mistress came near to her, and touching her cheek with her fingers, said with some difficulty. “Would you like to come to tea with me on Saturday, Ursula?” The girl flushed all gratitude. “We’ll go to a lovely little bungalow on the Soar, shall we? I stay the week-ends there sometimes.” Ursula was beside herself. She could not endure till the Saturday came, her thoughts burned up like a fire. If only it were Saturday, if only it were Saturday. Then Saturday came, and she set out. Miss Inger met her in Sawley, and they walked about three miles to the bungalow. It was a moist, warm cloudy day. The bungalow was a tiny, two-roomed shanty set on a steep bank. Everything in it was exquisite. In delicious privacy, the two girls made tea, and then they talked. Ursula need not be home till about ten o’clock. The talk was led, by a kind of spell, to love. Miss Inger was telling Ursula of a friend, how she had died in childbirth, and what she had suffered; then she told of a prostitute, and of some of her experiences with men. As they talked thus, on the little verandah of the bungalow, the night fell, there was a little warm rain. “It is really stifling,” said Miss Inger. They watched a train, whose lights were pale in the lingering twilight, rushing across the distance. “It will thunder,” said Ursula. The electric suspense continued, the darkness sank, they were eclipsed. “I think I shall go and bathe,” said Miss Inger, out of the cloud-black darkness. “At night?” said Ursula. “It is best at night. Will you come?” “I should like to.” “It is quite safe—the grounds are private. We had better undress in the bungalow, for fear of the rain, then run down.” Shyly, stiffly, Ursula went into the bungalow, and began to remove her clothes. The lamp was turned low, she stood in the shadow. By another chair Winifred Inger was undressing. Soon the naked, shadowy figure of the elder girl came to the younger. “Are you ready?” she said. “One moment.”