Then Miss Schofield came in, and with her another, more restful note. Ursula at once turned for confirmation to the newcomer. Maggie remained personal within all this unclean system of authority. “Is the big Anderson here?” she asked of Mr. Brunt. And they spoke of some affair about two scholars, coldly, officially. Miss Schofield took her brown dish, and Ursula followed with her own. The cloth was laid in the pleasant Standard Three room, there was a jar with two or three monthly roses on the table. “It is so nice in here, you _have_ made it different,” said Ursula gaily. But she was afraid. The atmosphere of the school was upon her. “The big room,” said Miss Schofield, “ha, it’s misery to be in it!” She too spoke with bitterness. She too lived in the ignominious position of an upper servant hated by the master above and the class beneath. She was, she knew, liable to attack from either side at any minute, or from both at once, for the authorities would listen to the complaints of parents, and both would turn round on the mongrel authority, the teacher. So there was a hard, bitter withholding in Maggie Schofield even as she poured out her savoury mess of big golden beans and brown gravy. “It is vegetarian hot-pot,” said Miss Schofield. “Would you like to try it?” “I should love to,” said Ursula. Her own dinner seemed coarse and ugly beside this savoury, clean dish. “I’ve never eaten vegetarian things,” she said, “But I should think they can be good.” “I’m not really a vegetarian,” said Maggie, “I don’t like to bring meat to school.” “No,” said Ursula, “I don’t think I do either.” And again her soul rang an answer to a new refinement, a new liberty. If all vegetarian things were as nice as this, she would be glad to escape the slight uncleanness of meat. “How good!” she cried. “Yes,” said Miss Schofield, and she proceeded to tell her the receipt. The two girls passed on to talk about themselves. Ursula told all about the High School, and about her matriculation, bragging a little. She felt so poor here, in this ugly place. Miss Schofield listened with brooding, handsome face, rather gloomy. “Couldn’t you have got to some better place than this?” she asked at length. “I didn’t know what it was like,” said Ursula, doubtfully. “Ah!” said Miss Schofield, and she turned aside her head with a bitter motion. “Is it as horrid as it seems?” asked Ursula, frowning lightly, in fear. “It is,” said Miss Schofield, bitterly. “Ha!—it is _hateful!”_ Ursula’s heart sank, seeing even Miss Schofield in the deadly bondage. “It is Mr. Harby,” said Maggie Schofield, breaking forth. “I don’t think I _could_ live again in the big room—Mr. Brunt’s voice and Mr. Harby—ah——” She turned aside her head with a deep hurt. Some things she could not bear. “Is Mr. Harby really horrid?” asked Ursula, venturing into her own dread.