cover； tense； glaring forth unwilling to be seen。
There were two strange men's voices； one soft and candid；
veiled with soft candour； the other veiled with easy mobility；
running quickly。 Ursula sat quite tense； shocked out of her
studies； lost。 She listened all the time to the sound of the
voices； scarcely heeding the words。
The first speaker was her Uncle Tom。 She knew the naive
candour covering the girding and savage misery of his soul。 Who
was the other speaker？ Whose voice ran on so easy； yet with an
inflamed pulse？ It seemed to hasten and urge her forward； that
other voice。
〃I remember you；〃 the young man's voice was saying。 〃I
remember you from the first time I saw you； because of your dark
eyes and fair face。〃
Mrs。 Brangwen laughed； shy and pleased。
〃You were a curlyheaded little lad；〃 she said。
〃Was I？ Yes； I know。 They were very proud of my curls。〃
And a laugh ran to silence。
〃You were a very wellmannered lad； I remember；〃 said her
father。
〃Oh！ did I ask you to stay the night？ I always used to ask
people to stay the night。 I believe it was rather trying for my
mother。〃
There was a general laugh。 Ursula rose。 She had to go。
At the click of the latch everybody looked round。 The girl
hung in the doorway； seized with a moment's fierce confusion。
She was going to be goodlooking。 Now she had an attractive
gawkiness； as she hung a moment； not knowing how to carry her
shoulders。 Her dark hair was tied behind； her yellowbrown eyes
shone without direction。 Behind her； in the parlour； was the
soft light of a lamp upon open books。
A superficial readiness took her to her Uncle Tom； who kissed
her； greeting her with warmth； making a show of intimate
possession of her； and at the same time leaving evident his own
plete detachment。
But she wanted to turn to the stranger。 He was standing back
a little； waiting。 He was a young man with very clear greyish
eyes that waited until they were called upon； before they took
expression。
Something in his selfpossessed waiting moved her； and she
broke into a confused； rather beautiful laugh as she gave him
her hand； catching her breath like an excited child。 His hand
closed over hers very close； very near； he bowed； and his eyes
were watching her with some attention。 She felt proudher
spirit leapt to life。
〃You don't know Mr。 Skrebensky； Ursula；〃 came her Uncle Tom's
intimate voice。 She lifted her face with an impulsive flash to
the stranger； as if to declare a knowledge； laughing her
palpitating； excited laugh。
His eyes became confused with roused lights； his detached
attention changed to a readiness for her。 He was a young man of
twentyone； with a slender figure and soft brown hair brushed up
on the German fashion straight from his brow。
〃Are you staying long？〃 she asked。
〃I've got a month's leave；〃 he said； glancing at Tom
Brangwen。 〃But I've various places I must go toput in
some time here and there。〃
He brought her a strong sense of the outer world。 It was as
if she were set on a hill and could feel vaguely the whole world
lying spread before her。
〃What have you a month's leave from？〃 she asked。
〃I'm in the Engineersin the Army。〃
〃Oh！〃 she exclaimed； glad。
〃We're taking you away from your studies；〃 said her
Uncle Tom。
〃Oh； no；〃 she replied quickly。
Skrebensky laughed； young and inflammable。
〃She won't wait to be taken away；〃 said her father。 But that
seemed clumsy。 She wished he would leave her to say her own
things。
〃Don't you like study？〃 asked Skrebensky； turning to her；
putting the question from his own case。
〃I like some things；〃 said Ursula。 〃I like Latin and
Frenchand grammar。〃
He watched her； and all his being seemed attentive to her；
then he shook his head。
〃I don't；〃 he said。 〃They say all the brains of the army are
in the Engineers。 I think that's why I joined themto get
the credit of other people's brains。〃
He said this quizzically and with chagrin。 And she became
alert to him。 It interested her。 Whether he had brains or not；
he was interesting。 His directness attracted her； his
independent motion。 She was aware of the movement of his life
over against hers。
〃I don't think brains matter；〃 she said。
〃What does matter then？〃 came her Uncle Tom's intimate；
caressing； halfjeering voice。
She turned to him。
〃It matters whether people have courage or not；〃 she
said。
〃Courage for what？〃 asked her uncle。
〃For everything。〃
Tom Brangwen gave a sharp little laugh。 The mother and father
sat silent； with listening faces。 Skrebensky waited。 She was
speaking for him。
〃Everything's nothing；〃 laughed her uncle。
She disliked him at that moment。
〃She doesn't practice what she preaches；〃 said her father；
stirring in his chair and crossing one leg over the other。 〃She
has courage for mighty little。〃
But she would not answer。 Skrebensky sat still； waiting。 His
face was irregular； almost ugly； flattish； with a rather thick
nose。 But his eyes were pellucid； strangely clear； his brown
hair was soft and thick as silk； he had a slight moustache。 His
skin was fine； his figure slight； beautiful。 Beside him； her
Uncle Tom looked fullblown； her father seemed uncouth。 Yet he
reminded her of her father； only he was finer； and he seemed to
be shining。 And his face was almost ugly。
He seemed simply acquiescent in the fact of his own being； as
if he were beyond any change or question。 He was himself。 There
was a sense of fatality about him that fascinated her。 He made
no effort to prove himself to other people。 Let it be accepted
for what it was； his own being。 In its isolation it made no
excuse or explanation for itself。
So he seemed perfectly； even fatally established； he did not
asked to be rendered before he could exist； before he could have
relationship with another person。
This attracted Ursula very much。 She was so used to unsure
people who took on a new being with every new influence。 Her
Uncle Tom was always more or less what the other person would
have him。 In consequence； one never knew the real Uncle Tom；
only a fluid； unsatisfactory flux with a more or less consistent
appearance。
But； let Skrebensky do what he would； betray himself
entirely； he betrayed himself always upon his own
responsibility。 He permitted no question about himself。 He was
irrevocable in his isolation。
So Ursula thought him wonderful； he was so finely
constituted； and so distinct； selfcontained； selfsupporting。
This； she said to herself； was a gentleman； he had a nature like
fate； the nature of an aristocrat。
She laid hold of him at once for her dreams。 Here was one
such as those Sons of God who saw the daughters of men； that
they were fair。 He was no son of Adam。 Adam was servile。 Had not
Adam been driven cringing out of his native place； had not the
human race been a beggar ever since； seeking its own being？ But
Anton Skrebensky could not beg。 He was in possession of himself；
of that； and no more。 Other people could not really give him
anything nor take anything from him。 His soul stood alone。
She knew that her mother and father acknowledged him。 The
house was changed。 There had been a visit paid to the house。
Once three angels stood in Abraham's doorway； and greeted him；
and stayed and ate with him； leaving his household enriched for
ever when they went。
The next day she went down to the Marsh according to
invitation。 The two men were not e home。 Then； looking
through the window； she saw the dogcart drive up； and Skrebensky
leapt down。 She saw him draw himself together； jump； laugh to
her uncle； who was driving； then e towards her to the house。
He was so spontaneous and revealed in his movements。 He was
isolated within his own clear； fine atmosphere； and as still as
if fated。
His resting in his own fate gave him an appearance of
indolence； almost of languor： he made no exuberant movement。
When he sat down； he seemed to go loose； languid。
〃We are a little late；〃 he said。
〃Where have you been？〃
〃We went to Derby to see a friend of my father's。〃
〃Who？〃
It was an adventure to her to put direct questions and get
plain answers。 She knew she might do it with this man。
〃Why； he is a clergyman toohe is my guardianone
of them。〃
Ursula knew that Skrebensky was an orphan。
〃Where is really your home now？〃 she asked。
〃My home？I wonder。 I am very fond of my
colonelColonel Hepburn： then there are my aunts： but my
real home； I suppose； is the army。〃
〃Do you like being on your own？〃
His clear； greenishgrey eyes rested on her a moment； and； as
he considered； he did not see her。
〃I suppose so；〃 he said。 〃You see my fatherwell； he
was never acclimatized here。 He wantedI don't know what
he wantedbut it was a strain。 And my motherI
always knew she was too good to me。 I could feel her being too
good to memy mother！ Then I went away to school so early。
And I must say； the outside world was always more naturally a
home to me than the vicarageI don't know why。〃
〃Do you feel like a bird blown out of its own latitude？〃 she
asked； using a phrase she had met。
〃No； no。 I find everything very much as I like it。〃
He seemed more and more to give her a sense of the vast
world； a sense of distances and large masses of humanity。 It
drew her as a scent draws a bee from afar。 But also it hurt
her。
It was summer； and she wore cotton frocks。 The third time he
saw her she had on a dress with fine blueandwhite stripes；
with a white collar； and a large white hat。 It suited her
golden； warm plexion。
〃I like you best in that dress；〃 he said； standing with his
head slightly on one side； and appreciating her in a perceiving；
critical fashion。
She was thrilled with a new life。 For the first time she was
in love with a vision of herself： she saw as it were a fine
little reflection of herself in his eyes。 And she must act up to
this： she must be beautiful。 Her thoughts turned swiftly to
clothes； her passion was to make a beautiful appearance。 Her
family looked on in amazement at the sudden transformation of
Ursula。 She became elegant； really elegant； in figured cotton
frocks she made for herself； and hats she bent to her fancy。 An
inspiration was upon her。
He sa