“You are the wonderfullest, the loveliest ...” they asserted.
Sappho smiled:
“No, I’m not,” she said. “But I’m the happiest ...”
“Come, my dears,” said a brisk, decided voice, while slender hands caught Rose’s right and Ruth’s left. “Time to be getting home ...”
The arena grew dim, the shouting died, Sappho wavered and vanished. The two girls shut their eyes instinctively. Once more came that sudden sense of falling....
“Why, look, there are the torches,” cried Ruth, clutching at her sister.
But it was the flickering flame of the fire in the living room, for there were Rose and Ruth, sitting on the big settee among the pillows, while the log fell apart with a crash and an up-burst of flame.
“Why, we’re home again,” said Rose, slowly. “And the fairy, is she here?”
But if she were she did not answer, and since she couldn’t be seen, there was nothing to be done but to suppose she had gone.