She had not done any of her work for the next day; not the original in geometry or the sonnet she should have learned by heart; in fact she had not opened a book. She couldn't concentrate her mind now on mathematics or poetry, but she might do some of the collateral reading for Greek History. She slipped the book out of its strap and opened it. "Of Lycurgus the lawgiver, we have nothing to relate that is certain and uncontroverted--" Lita thought: that's at least a candid way to begin a biography. The door opened, letting in the roar of the train and the smell of coal smoke, and Lita's nerves remembered it, as if only once before in her life had she ever known a car door open, and looked up--to see the conductor. She dropped her eyes and went on: "For there are different accounts of his birth, his death--" The door again; this time a passenger in search of a seat. She made a vow to herself to read three pages without looking up--and did. "Endeavoring to part some persons who were concerned in a fray, he received a wound by a kitchen knife, of which he died, and left the kingdom--" She was aware that something in blue serge was stationary beside her. She looked slowly up. Yes, there he was. She introduced him to her mother. The seat in front of them was now free, and Dacer, turning it over, sat down. Mrs. Hazlitt was not sorry to show that her coldness concerned her daughter only. She was very willing to talk agreeably to a stranger. The conversation was carried on between them as if Lita were too young to be expected to take part. She was not sorry, and went on glancing at a sentence here and there: "He set sail, therefore, and landed in Crete--" "--in which the priestess called him beloved of the gods, and rather a god than a man." At this she really could not help looking at Dacer, and finding his eyes on her, she said, "I saw you at the theater yesterday." He was interested. "I didn't see you." "Oh, yes, we were there," said Mrs. Hazlitt languidly. "Such a poor play! And as for Valentine--these popular actors in America--" "He was thought very handsome and dashing, in our box," said Dacer. And then Lita was surprised to hear her own voice saying, "Was that lady your wife?" He stared at her for a second as if he had not heard, or could not understand what he seemed to have heard, and then answered quietly, "No, I don't care for them by the cubic foot." Never had such a perfect reply been made, Lita thought. It reconstructed their relation and the whole world, and yet it took place so gently that her mother had hardly noticed that they had spoken to each other. Life was simply immense, she said to herself; she had been quite wrong about it before. Then presently Dacer drew from Mrs. Hazlitt the admission that she had a wretched headache--hadn't slept--had had a disagreeable day--so foolish, but she was affected by scenes-- "Everybody is, you know," said Dacer.