e your Lordship gave them. It was to Braithwaite."

"Was it?" He held her eyes, striving to peer behind their curtained
windows. It was the first time that that name had been mentioned between
them in casual conversation. "You're right. It comes back to me now. It
was the Christmas of 1913 that he took you. Do you remember the fairy
who was dying? There was only one way of keeping her alive. Peter Pan
had to make the children in the audience promise that they believed in
fairies. When they did that, she got well. That's why I'm going to Dawn
Castle to-night."

Ann ceased abruptly from what she was doing and stared at her master in
concern. He laughed mischievously. "Wrong again, Ann; I've not taken
leave of my senses. Two hours ago I made the same mistake. There was a
man who asked me whether I believed that Mrs. Lockwood's first husband,
who was killed at the Front, would return. While I was wondering how
long it would be before he'd grow violent, he proved to me that he was
her first husband. So I'm believing in fairies."

A secret happiness lit up her face. "Deep down beneath our doubts, most
of us believe in fairies, I think, your Lordship." With a shy smile she
left him.

The purring of an engine warned him that the car had returned and was
waiting. He could hear Ann in the hall, handing out his bags. He had
finished his supper; he might as well be off. As he drove out of the
Square, he looked back; she was standing on the steps, gazing after him.
He had the restless certainty, now that it was too late, that she had
had a secret which, at the last moment, she would have given the world
to have shared with him.

V

Of that night journey in after years he remembered only the deep peace
and the ecstasy. He was doing something at last that was right; though
why it was right, he would have found it hard to explain. He encountered
none of the difficulties he had anticipated in picking up his direction.
He flew unswervingly to the mark like a bullet traveling a predestined
path. The first sixty miles were familiar; Maisie had covered them with
him on many occasions. By every law of emotion each landmark should have
stirred some poignant memory, some fresh wistfulness of regret. The fact
was that he hardly gave her a thought. When he did, it was only to wish
her luck and to congratulate himself on his escape.

Having passed through Oxford lying blanched in moonlight, he climbed out
of the Thames valley, striking