He looked round as if at an apparition. Ursula stood shadowily within the candle-light.
"What now?" he said, not coming to earth.
It was difficult to speak to him.
"I've got a situation," she said, forcing herself to speak.
"You've got what?" he answered, unwilling to come out of his mood of organ-playing. He closed the music before him.
"I've got a situation to go to."
Then he turned to her, still abstracted, unwilling.
"Oh, where's that?" he said.
"At Kingston-on-Thames. I must go on Thursday for an interview with the Committee."
"You must go on Thursday?"
"Yes."
And she handed him the letter. He read it by the light of the candles.
"Ursula Brangwen, Yew Tree Cottage, Cossethay, Derbyshire.
"Dear Madam, You are requested to call at the above offices on Thursday next, the 10th, at 11.30 a.m., for an interview with the committee, referring to your application for the post of assistant mistress at the Wellingborough Green Schools."
It was very difficult for Brangwen to take in this remote and official information, glowing as he was within the quiet of his church and his anthem music.
"Well, you needn't bother me with it now, need you?" he said impatiently, giving her back the letter.
"I've got to go on Thursday," she said.
He sat motionless. Then he reached more music, and there was a rushing sound of air, then a long, emphatic trumpet-note of the organ, as he laid his hands on the keys. Ursula turned and went away.
He tried to give himself again to the organ. But he could not. He could not get back. All the time a sort of string was tugging, tugging him elsewhere, miserably.
So that when he came into the house after choir-practice his face was dark and his heart black. He said nothing, however, until all the younger children were in bed. Ursula, however, knew what was brewing.
At length he asked:
"Where's that letter?"
