While my intimacy with Captain Gavison was ripening, I had of course not forgotten one whose friendship meant more to me than that of any man. In the exhilarating moments of that first happy interview with Aelios, I had had visions of speaking with her often, visions of an Atlantis made bright by her very presence. But before long I began to feel that I had been too sanguine. Although I still caught glimpses of her when she came to give Stranahan his daily lesson, and although she would sometimes nod ingratiatingly to me, it was long before I had another opportunity to speak to her, since I could not detach her from the company of the other tutors. And so day after long uneasy day dragged by until they had piled up into a week, and slow, protracted weeks until they had accumulated into a month, before at last we had another conversation. Then came a day when I observed her by chance in one of the great festooned courts at the base of a towering campanile. She saw me even before I saw her; and approaching of her own volition, she flashed upon me a smile that seemed to make the universe stand still with joy. “I am glad to see you, my friend,” she said, simply and with unaffected kindliness. “I have been wanting to tell you about our coming pageant. I know you will not want to miss it, for it will explain many things you have been wondering about.” “What pageant do you mean?” I asked. “The Festival of the Good Destruction,” she explained. “Every year, as I believe I’ve told you, we hold a celebration on the anniversary of the Submergence. This year it will take the form of a pageant. It will be the Three Thousand and Thirty-fifth anniversary.” “In eight days. It will commence at noon in the Agripides Theatre, which you will very easily find, since it is in the center of town. I certainly hope to see you there.” “I certainly hope to see you there,” I declared, quite truthfully. But at the same time a shadow crossed my thoughts. Hesitatingly, and possibly blushing in my embarrassment, I had to confess that, after all, I would not be able to go. “Not be able to go?” she demanded, in manifest disappointment. “What other engagement can you possibly have?” Since some definite excuse appeared to be necessary, I explained--very reluctantly to be sure--that I could not pay my admission. “Pay your admission?” echoed Aelios, in such shrill surprise that I thought she had misunderstood me. “What on earth are you thinking of? Do you imagine we are barbarians?” “I’m afraid I haven’t made myself clear,” I hastened to explain. “Where I come from it is customary to pay upon going to a theatre.” “Really?” demanded Aelios, so incredulously that I thought her most naïve. “Of course!” I assured her, in such a manner as to stamp all doubt from her mind.