"Company for her Grace, Sparks," he answered, pompously.
The lady's-maid stared, then ran on giggling. "Gootle's got 'em!" she murmured, not untruthfully. She saw possibility for sniggering gossip when she reached the housekeeper's room.
The Duchess was in the library going through her visitors' list, deciding on the guests to be invited to her next dinner-party, writing the names of the selected on a large half-sheet.
The butler entered the library. At once the fairies descended from him and clustered about the Duchess and the writing-table.
Gootle was suddenly aware of the fact that his entrance was purposeless. The object that had taken him there had departed. He struggled with his brains to think of a reasonable excuse for the intrusion.
"Yes, Gootle?" the Duchess inquired.
"Ahem, your Grace, the--front-door flew open."
The Duchess laid down her pen and--looked.
"Really, Gootle! Should I have been troubled with that?" Her glance was ominous.
"Very sorry, your Grace, very sorry," he mumbled, fluttering his hands like flappers, and withdrew. He felt slapped. He wanted to kick himself. "Mass! hass! hass!" he soliloquized. "What did I do that for?" He paused on the stairs. "Them bloomin' fairies!" he said again.