It was not yet six when she stole downstairs and across the green. She had a good reason for being anxious about Aurelia--the stitches had been taken out of the wound the night before. That's what she would say if anyone asked her. But no one was awake, except far away in the school kitchen. The door of the infirmary was locked, but as she pressed noiselessly against it a figure faced her on the other side of the glass--Dacer. He opened the door and came out. It shut behind him, and as the night latch was still on, they were locked out. So they sat down on the narrow steps of the cottage, each with a pillar to lean against, and for the first time looked long and steadily at each other, as people who have met by deliberate acknowledged plan. "Do you like the early morning?" he asked. "I never did before," she answered. He smiled at her. "Do you realize," he said, "that in this lifelong friendship of ours that is the first decent thing you have ever said to me?" Why, it was true! To Lita it had been so clear that she was more interested than he was; more eager; but it was true, she had given him none of those poignant, unforgettable sentences which he had left with her, to go over in his absence. She smiled, too--very slowly. "Perhaps it won't be the last," she said. At half past seven Dacer went in, and a few minutes later Lita arrived at Room 11 to inquire after her friend. When it was time to go, she shook hands with Doctor Dacer in the presence of Aurelia, Aurelia's mother, who had just arrived, and the trained nurse. It was the last possible meeting before the Easter holidays. III Immediately after breakfast Lita had geometry, and then a study period. During this she received a message that Miss Barton wished to speak to her. Such a message was not necessarily alarming; as chairman of the self-government committee she was consulted on many school problems. It was known that Miss Barton relied more on her judgment than on that of the senior president. Still, with a poor classroom record for the past week, and that unlicensed hour and a half on the infirmary steps, Lita did feel a trifle nervous; not that she could care very much about such minor matters. And then there was Matthew and the flivver---- The head mistress was sitting at her desk in her study, with its latticed windows and the etchings of English cathedrals on the walls. Her head was slightly on one side, which meant, according to school lore, that she was going to be particularly airy. She was. "Oh, well, come, my dear Lita," she said. "This is really going rather far--a bit thick, as our little English friend would say." "But what is it, Miss Barton?" Lita breathed, with all the pearly innocence of young guilt. "Oh, dear, dear!" said Miss Barton. "So we have nothing on our conscience!" "I have a great many things," said Lita quietly. She knew just how to talk to her chief--if that would do any good.