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 Doctor.