"Yes, yes; I am certain of it."
"I thought it would be different," said Elisabeth sadly; "I thought that when it did come it would transform the whole world, just as religion does, and that all things would become new. I thought it would turn out to be the thing that we are longing for when the beauty of nature makes us feel sad with a longing we know not for what. I thought it would change life's dusty paths into golden pavements, and earth's commonest bramble-bush into a magic briar-rose."
"And it hasn't?"
"No; everything is just the same as it was before I met you. As far as I can see, there is no livelier emerald twinkling in the grass of the Park than there ever is at the end of July, and no purer sapphire melting into the Serpentine."
Cecil laughed lightly. "You are as absurdly romantic as a school-girl! Surely people of our age ought to know better than still to believe in fairyland; but, as I have told you before, you are dreadfully young for your age in some things."
"I suppose I am. I still do believe in fairyland—at least I did until ten minutes ago."
"I assure you there is no such place."
"Not for anybody?"
"Not for anybody over twenty-one."
"I wish there was," said Elisabeth with a sigh. "I should have liked to believe it was there, even if I had never found it."