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?”
She gave it to him. He sat looking at it. “You are requested to call at the above offices on Thursday next——” It was a cold, official notice to Ursula herself and had nothing to do with him. So! She existed now as a separate social individual. It was for her to answer this note, without regard to him. He had even no right to interfere. His heart was hard and angry.
“You had to do it behind our backs, had you?” he said, with a sneer. And her heart leapt with hot pain. She knew she was free—she had broken away from him. He was beaten.