Nothing was more insufferable to Vag than the Sunday train ride back to Boston. He squinted through the frosted window, sighed dismally, and then the impossible happened. A pretty girl, a college girl, undoubtedly from Wellesley, took the vacant seat next to him. It happened just as Vag had always seen in the movies. He knew exactly what to do, for the scene had been rehearsed in his mind a thousand times before. Her baggage must be torn from her small hands and lifted to the rack above. Helplessly, Vag watched the red-cap go through the motions. Still, there was hope. The girl had turned her blue eyes to the pages of a book, and then Vag saw his chance. She was cramming desperately for an exam, and if it were only in his field, or even English 35, he would throw his C minus brain at her feet. But she was pondering on Willa Cather. Vag was crushed completely, and he knew it. He peered over his shoulder, trying to learn the title. Perhaps, he had read it, and they could have a homey chat on its place in literature. But he could think of nothing to say, nothing, that is, that would not sound as ridiculous as "have you the time?" And while stations and towns rolled by, Vag brooded, and the pretty girl turned her pages. But the demon in Vag would stay chained no longer. Witty speech or not, Vag would know her. Leaning close to her shoulder, he asked quickly, almost too quickly: "You're going to Wellesley, aren't you?"

She seemed completely surprised either at the question or Vag's brusque attack. The blue eyes opened in an amused smile. "Why no, I'm not."

Vag took the blow. It was ridiculous. Of course, she went to Wellesley. "Well, where do you go, then?"

The girl wasn't sure whether to answer. Finally she said: "Milton School."

"Oh, really," Vag's expression replied silently. Then he began to laugh. "Great school, Milton. Know some girls there myself." Vag could not forget the old Brattle dances from his Freshman year.

The girl was all eagerness now. Her blue eyes fairly invited Vag to talk. "Oh, tell me whom you know there." Vag struggled to remember and finally produced a few names. The girl was disappointed. "I don't know any of them. They must be seniors."

Vag tried to control his voice. "Well, aren't you a senior?"

"Oh, no."

"What are you, then?" Vag almost shouted.

"Just a beginner," she replied placidly. The satisfaction on her face made Vag writhe. "I still have four years to go." It almost seemed spite that the girl should begin to tuck wisps of perfect blonde curls into place.

"Are you sure," Vag begged, "that you don't go to Wellesley?" The girl nodded for the last time, for Vag had gone back to counting the crystals of snow on the window glass.