es
not notice the stranger, and though he has watched her with
interest, makes no sign. Suddenly she perceives him and starts
back._

PATRICIA. Oh! Who are you?

STRANGER. Ah! Who am I? [_Commences to mutter to himself, and maps out
the ground with his staff._]

I have a hat, but not to wear;
I wear a sword, but not to slay,
And ever in my bag I bear
A pack of cards, but not to play.

PATRICIA. What are you? What are you saying?

STRANGER. It is the language of the fairies, O daughter of Eve.

PATRICIA. But I never thought fairies were like you. Why, you are taller
than I am.

STRANGER. We are of such stature as we will. But the elves grow small,
not large, when they would mix with mortals.

PATRICIA. You mean they are beings greater than we are.

STRANGER. Daughter of men, if you would see a fairy as he truly is, look
for his head above all the stars and his feet amid the floors of the
sea. Old women have taught you that the fairies are too small to be
seen. But I tell you the fairies are too mighty to be seen. For they are
the elder gods before whom the giants were like pigmies. They are the
Elemental Spirits, and any one of them is larger than the world. And you
look for them in acorns and on toadstools and wonder that you never see
them.

PATRICIA. But you come in the shape and size of a man?

STRANGER. Because I would speak with a woman.

PATRICIA. [_Drawing back in awe._] I think you are growing taller as you
speak.

[_The scene appears to fade away, and give place to the milieu of_
ACT ONE, _the Duke's drawing-room, an apartment with open French
windows or any opening large enough to show a garden and one house
fairly near. It is evening, and there is a red lamp lighted in the
house beyond. The_ REV. CYRIL SMITH _is sitting with hat and
umbrella beside him, evidently a visitor. He is a young man with
the highest of High Church dog-collars and all the qualities of a
restrained fanatic. He is one of the Christian Socialist sort and
takes his priesthood seriously. He is an honest man, and not an
ass._

[_To him enters_ MR. HASTINGS _with papers in his hand._

HASTINGS. Oh, good evening. You are Mr. Smith. [_Pause._] I mean you are
the Rector, I think.

SMITH. I am the Rector.

HASTINGS. I am the Duke's secretary. His Grace asks me to say that he
hopes to see you very soon; but he is engaged just now with the