of place it was to be she did not ask herself。 The blind desire
drove her on。 She must take her place。
She knew she would never be much of a success as an
elementary school teacher。 But neither had she failed。 She hated
it； but she had managed it。
Maggie had left St。 Philip's School； and had found a more
congenial post。 The two girls remained friends。 They met at
evening classes； they studied and somehow encouraged a firm hope
each in the other。 They did not know whither they were making；
nor what they ultimately wanted。 But they knew they wanted now
to learn； to know and to do。
They talked of love and marriage； and the position of woman
in marriage。 Maggie said that love was the flower of life； and
blossomed unexpectedly and without law； and must be plucked
where it was found； and enjoyed for the brief hour of its
duration。
To Ursula this was unsatisfactory。 She thought she still
loved Anton Skrebensky。 But she did not forgive him that he had
not been strong enough to acknowledge her。 He had denied her。
How then could she love him？ How then was love so absolute？ She
did not believe it。 She believed that love was a way； a means；
not an end in itself； as Maggie seemed to think。 And always the
way of love would be found。 But whither did it lead？
〃I believe there are many men in the world one might
love……there is not only one man；〃 said Ursula。
She was thinking of Skrebensky。 Her heart was hollow with the
knowledge of Winifred Inger。
〃But you must distinguish between love and passion；〃 said
Maggie； adding； with a touch of contempt： 〃Men will easily have
a passion for you； but they won't love you。〃
〃Yes；〃 said Ursula； vehemently； the look of suffering； almost
of fanaticism； on her face。 〃Passion is only part of love。 And
it seems so much because it can't last。 That is why passion is
never happy。〃
She was staunch for joy； for happiness； and permanency； in
contrast with Maggie； who was for sadness； and the inevitable
passing…away of things。 Ursula suffered bitterly at the hands of
life； Maggie was always single； always withheld； so she went in
a heavy brooding sadness that was almost meat to her。 In
Ursula's last winter at St。 Philip's the friendship of the two
girls came to a climax。 It was during this winter that Ursula
suffered and enjoyed most keenly Maggie's fundamental sadness of
enclosedness。 Maggie enjoyed and suffered Ursula's struggles
against the confines of her life。 And then the two girls began
to drift apart； as Ursula broke from that form of life wherein
Maggie must remain enclosed。
CHAPTER XIV
THE WIDENING CIRCLE
Maggie's people； the Schofields； lived in the large
gardener's cottage； that was half a farm； behind Belcote Hall。
The hall was too damp to live in； so the Schofields were
caretakers； gamekeepers； farmers； all in one。 The father was
gamekeeper and stock…breeder； the eldest son was
market…gardener； using the big hall gardens； the second son was
farmer and gardener。 There was a large family； as at
Cossethay。
Ursula loved to stay at Belcote； to be treated as a grand
lady by Maggie's brothers。 They were good…looking men。 The
eldest was twenty…six years old。 He was the gardener； a man not
very tall； but strong and well made； with brown； sunny； easy
eyes and a face handsomely hewn； brown； with a long fair
moustache which he pulled as he talked to Ursula。
The girl was excited because these men attended to her when
she came near。 She could make their eyes light up and quiver；
she could make Anthony； the eldest； twist and twist his
moustache。 She knew she could move them almost at will with her
light laughter and chatter。 They loved her ideas； watched her as
she talked vehemently about politics or economics。 And she；
while she talked； saw the golden…brown eyes of Anthony gleam
like the eyes of a satyr as they watched her。 He did not listen
to her words； he listened to her。 It excited her。
He was like a faun pleased when she would go with him over
his hothouses； to look at the green and pretty plants； at the
pink primulas nodding among their leaves； and cinarrias
flaunting purple and crimson and white。 She asked about
everything； and he told her very exactly and minutely； in a
queer pedantic way that made her want to laugh。 Yet she was
really interested in what he did。 And he had the curious light
in his face； like the light in the eyes of the goat that was
tethered by the farmyard gate。
She went down with him into the warmish cellar； where already
in the darkness the little yellow knobs of rhubarb were ing。
He held the lantern down to the dark earth。 She saw the tiny
knob…end of the rhubarb thrusting upwards upon the thick red
stem； thrusting itself like a knob of flame through the soft
soil。 His face was turned up to her； the light glittered on his
eyes and his teeth as he laughed； with a faint； musical neigh。
He looked handsome。 And she heard a new sound in her ears； the
faintly…musical； neighing laugh of Anthony； whose moustache
twisted up； and whose eyes were luminous with a cold； steady；
arrogant…laughing glare。 There seemed a little prance of triumph
in his movement； she could not rid herself of a movement of
acquiescence； a touch of acceptance。 Yet he was so humble； his
voice was so caressing。 He held his hand for her to step on when
she must climb a wall。 And she stepped on the living firmness of
him； that quivered firmly under her weight。
She was aware of him as if in a mesmeric state。 In her
ordinary sense； she had nothing to do with him。 But the peculiar
ease and unnoticeableness of his entering the house； the power
of his cold； gleaming light on her when he looked at her； was
like a bewitchment。 In his eyes； as in the pale grey eyes of a
goat； there seemed some of that steady； hard fire of moonlight
which has nothing to do with the day。 It made her alert； and yet
her mind went out like an extinguished thing。 She was all
senses； all her senses were alive。
Then she saw him on Sunday； dressed up in Sunday clothes；
trying to impress her。 And he looked ridiculous。 She clung to
the ridiculous effect of his stiff； Sunday clothes。
She was always conscious of some unfaithfulness to Maggie； on
Anthony's score。 Poor Maggie stood apart as if betrayed。 Maggie
and Anthony were enemies by instinct。 Ursula had to go back to
her friend brimming with affection and a poignancy of pity。
Which Maggie received with a little stiffness。 Then poetry and
books and learning took the place of Anthony； with his goats'
movements and his cold； gleaming humour。
While Ursula was at Belcote； the snow fell。 In the morning； a
covering of snow weighed on the rhododendron bushes。
〃Shall we go out？〃 said Maggie。
She had lost some of her leader's sureness； and was now
tentative； a little in reserve from her friend。
They took the key of the gate and wandered into the park。 It
was a white world on which dark trees and tree masses stood
under a sky keen with frost。 The two girls went past the hall；
that was shuttered and silent； their footprints marking the snow
on the drive。 Down the park； a long way off； a man was carrying
armfuls of hay across the snow。 He was a small； dark fi