The Rainbow

Ursula took her dinner to school, and during the second week

ate it in Miss Schofield's room. Standard Three classroom stood

by itself and had windows on two sides, looking on to the

playground. It was a passionate relief to find such a retreat in

the jarring school. For there were pots of chrysanthemums and

coloured leaves, and a big jar of berries: there were pretty

little pictures on the wall, photogravure reproductions from

Greuze, and Reynolds's "Age of Innocence", giving an air of

intimacy; so that the room, with its window space, its smaller,

tidier desks, its touch of pictures and flowers, made Ursula at

once glad. Here at last was a little personal touch, to which

she could respond.

It was Monday. She had been at school a week and was getting

used to the surroundings, though she was still an entire

foreigner in herself. She looked forward to having dinner with

Maggie. That was the bright spot in the day. Maggie was so

strong and remote, walking with slow, sure steps down a hard

road, carrying the dream within her. Ursula went through the

class teaching as through a meaningless daze.

Her class tumbled out at midday in haphazard fashion. She did

not realize what host she was gathering against herself by her

superior tolerance, her kindness and her laisseraller. They were

gone, and she was rid of them, and that was all. She hurried

away to the teachers' room.

Mr. Brunt was crouching at the small stove, putting a little

rice pudding into the oven. He rose then, and attentively poked

in a small saucepan on the hob with a fork. Then he replaced the

saucepan lid.

"Aren't they done?" asked Ursula gaily, breaking in on his

tense absorption.

She always kept a bright, blithe manner, and was pleasant to

all the teachers. For she felt like the swan among the geese, of

superior heritage and belonging. And her pride at being the swan

in this ugly school was not yet abated.

"Not yet," replied Mr. Brunt, laconic.

"I wonder if my dish is hot," she said, bending down at the

oven. She half expected him to look for her, but he took no

notice. She was hungry and she poked her finger eagerly in the

pot to see if her brussels sprouts and potatoes and meat were

ready. They were not.

"Don't you think it's rather jolly bringing dinner?" she said

to Mr. Brunt.

"I don't know as I do," he said, spreading a serviette on a

corner of the table, and not looking at her.

"I suppose it is too far for you to go home?"

"Yes," he said. Then he rose and looked at her. He had the

bluest, fiercest, most pointed eyes that she had ever met. He

stared at her with growing fierceness.

"If I were you, Miss Brangwen," he said, menacingly, "I

should get a bit tighter hand over my class."