“And it doesn’t matter whether they want you or not, if your father says you are not to go,” said the mother calmly. How Ursula hated her! “You said I was to try,” the girl cried. “Now I’ve got a place and I’m going to go.” “You’re not going all that distance,” said her father. “Why don’t you get a place at Ilkeston, where you can live at home?” asked Gudrun, who hated conflicts, who could not understand Ursula’s uneasy way, yet who must stand by her sister. “There aren’t any places in Ilkeston,” cried Ursula. “And I’d rather go right away.” “If you’d asked about it, a place could have been got for you in Ilkeston. But you had to play Miss High-an’-mighty, and go your own way,” said her father. “I’ve no doubt you’d rather go right away,” said her mother, very caustic. “And I’ve no doubt you’d find other people didn’t put up with you for very long either. You’ve too much opinion of yourself for your good.” Between the girl and her mother was a feeling of pure hatred. There came a stubborn silence. Ursula knew she must break it. “Well, they’ve written to me, and I s’ll have to go,” she said. “Where will you get the money from?” asked her father. “Uncle Tom will give it me,” she said. Again there was silence. This time she was triumphant. Then at length her father lifted his head. His face was abstracted, he seemed to be abstracting himself, to make a pure statement. “Well, you’re not going all that distance away,” he said. “I’ll ask Mr. Burt about a place here. I’m not going to have you by yourself at the other side of London.” “But I’ve _got_ to go to Kingston,” said Ursula. “They’ve sent for me.” “They’ll do without you,” he said. There was a trembling silence when she was on the point of tears. “Well,” she said, low and tense, “you can put me off this, but I’m _going_ to have a place. I’m _not_ going to stop at home.” “Nobody wants you to stop at home,” he suddenly shouted, going livid with rage. She said no more. Her nature had gone hard and smiling in its own arrogance, in its own antagonistic indifference to the rest of them. This was the state in which he wanted to kill her. She went singing into the parlour. “C’est la mère Michel qui a perdu son chat, Qui cri par la fenêtre qu’est-ce qui le lui renda——” During the next days Ursula went about bright and hard, singing to herself, making love to the children, but her soul hard and cold with regard to her parents. Nothing more was said. The hardness and brightness lasted for four days. Then it began to break up. So at evening she said to her father: “Have you spoken about a place for me?” “I spoke to Mr. Burt.” “What did he say?” “There’s a committee meeting to-morrow. He’ll tell me on Friday.”