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deserted；　like　an　empty　prison　waiting　the　return　of　tramping

feet。

Ursula　went　forward　to　the　teachers　room　that　burrowed　in　a

gloomy　hole。　She　knocked　timidly。

〃e　in！〃　called　a　surprised　mans　voice；　as　from　a　prison

cell。　She　entered　the　dark　little　room　that　never　got　any　sun。

The　gas　was　lighted　naked　and　raw。　At　the　table　a　thin　man　in

shirt…sleeves　was　rubbing　a　paper　on　a　jellytray。　He　looked　up

at　Ursula　with　his　narrow；　sharp　face；　said　〃Good　morning；〃　then

turned　away　again；　and　stripped　the　paper　off　the　tray；　glancing

at　the　violet…coloured　writing　transferred；　before　he　dropped

the　curled　sheet　aside　among　a　heap。

Ursula　watched　him　fascinated。　In　the　gaslight　and　gloom　and

the　narrowness　of　the　room；　all　seemed　unreal。

〃Isnt　it　a　nasty　morning；〃　she　said。

〃Yes；〃　he　said；　〃its　not　much　of　weather。〃

But　in　here　it　seemed　that　neither　morning　nor　weather　really

existed。　This　place　was　timeless。　He　spoke　in　an　occupied　voice；

like　an　echo。　Ursula　did　not　know　what　to　say。　She　took　off　her

waterproof。

〃Am　I　early？〃　she　asked。

The　man　looked　first　at　a　little　clock；　then　at　her。　His　eyes

seemed　to　be　sharpened　to　needle…points　of　vision。

〃Twenty…five　past；〃　he　said。　〃Youre　the　second　to　e。　Im

first　this　morning。〃

Ursula　sat　down　gingerly　on　the　edge　of　a　chair；　and　watched

his　thin　red　hands　rubbing　away　on　the　white　surface　of　the

paper；　then　pausing；　pulling　up　a　corner　of　the　sheet；　peering；

and　rubbing　away　again。　There　was　a　great　heap　of　curled

white…and…scribbled　sheets　on　the　table。

〃Must　you　do　so　many？〃　asked　Ursula。

Again　the　man　glanced　up　sharply。　He　was　about　thirty　or

thirty…three　years　old；　thin；　greenish；　with　a　long　nose　and　a

sharp　face。　His　eyes　were　blue；　and　sharp　as　points　of　steel；

rather　beautiful；　the　girl　thought。

〃Sixty…three；〃　he　answered。

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