Mrs. Hazlitt was still protesting against this suggestion when Freebody came back and said that Mr. Hazlitt was in the drawing-room, and would be very much obliged to Mrs. Hazlitt if she could arrange to see him for just five minutes. There was a pause; Mrs. Hazlitt and Lita looked at each other; and Freebody, just as much interested as anyone, looked at no one. Then Mrs. Hazlitt said they would both go down. And so for the first time since she was five years old Lita stood in the room with both her parents--her mother trembling so that the silk lining of her tea gown rustled with a soft, continuous whispering like the wind in dead leaves, and her father, white and impressive, with his crush hat under one arm and the open letter held at arm's length so that he could read it without his glasses. Something hurt and twisted came to rest in Lita by the mere fact that the three of them were together. Her father spoke first, and his voice was not quite natural, as he said, "It was kind of you to come down, Alita. I know it is exceedingly painful to you--" "I've done a good many painful things in my life for Lita." "I know, I know," he answered gently; "and this not the least. But this letter--I don't exactly understand it." "Have you read it?" "Not entirely." "Well, read it--read it," said Mrs. Hazlitt, as if he ought to see that he couldn't understand anything until he had read it; but every time he began to read it she began to explain all the hideousness of Lita's conduct; and when he looked up to listen to her she said, with a sort of weary patience, "Won't you please read the letter? Then we can discuss it." At last he said quietly, "Alita, I cannot read it while you talk to me." She did not answer. She moved her neck back like an offended swan, and glanced at Lita as much as to say, "You see the sort of man he is?" She did, however, remain silent until he had finished, and looking had said, "But this isn't even good grammar--'Like they was pigmies.' Don't they teach her grammar at this school?" Alita Hazlitt was one of those people who, when blame is going about, assume it is intended for them and consider the accusation most unjust. "Well, really," she said now, "it wasn't my wish that she should go to boarding school. It has turned out exactly as I prophesied it would. Common girls have taught her to run after actors, and inefficient teachers have failed--" "I don't remember your prophesying that, Alita." "You mean to say I did not?" "I mean to say I have no recollection of it. I do remember that you said it would make it easier for me to kidnap her. I shall never forget that." "You cannot deny that I was opposed to school. I only yielded to your wishes--such a mistake." "You have not many of that kind to reproach yourself with."