“We took first prize for our sweet-peas at the flower show,” announced Elaine suddenly and aggressively.
“As big again as any other exhibit they were,” said Mr. Pithey, dusting the front of his white waistcoat proudly. “You may beat us in roses, but our sweet-peas are bigger, I’ll lay half a crown.”
“Why don’t I see fairies any way, if you do?” asked Elaine, returning to the attack now she had asserted her superiority. But Moira had withdrawn into herself, bitterly repentant of her revelation.
“Have you ever looked through a microscope?” Ruth asked, putting a sheltering arm round the small figure beside her.
Elaine looked at her suspiciously.
“You mean there’s plenty I can’t see,” she said shrewdly. “But why don’t I see fairies if she does?”
Ruth smiled. “I am afraid as a rule they avoid us as much as possible. You see, we human beings mostly kill and torture and destroy all the things they love best.”
“I don’t!”
Ruth pointed to the tightly held bunch of dying flowers in the child’s hand.
“They’re only common poppies!” said Elaine contemptuously.