Ursula stood in front of the class, leading the children by questions to understand the structure and the meaning of the catkins.
A heavy, copper-coloured beam of light came in at the west window, gilding the outlines of the children's heads with red gold, and falling on the wall opposite in a rich, ruddy illumination.

Ursula, however, was scarcely conscious of it.

She was busy, the end of the day was here, the work went on as a peaceful tide that is at flood, hushed to retire.
This day had gone by like so many more, in an activity that was like a trance.

At the end there was a little haste, to finish what was in hand.

She was pressing the children with questions, so that they should know all they were to know, by the time the gong went.