The next day Philomène went to announce the news to Sweet William. She sat opposite to him on the toadstool which she had come to consider her own, with her elbows propped on the mushroom table between them, as she had sat many and many a time during the past year.
“I quite see that it cannot be helped,” said Sweet William, when she had finished speaking, “but I am sorry.”
A startled look came into Philomène’s eyes. “What do you mean?” she asked uneasily, “why should you be sorry?”
“For one thing, you will not live at Sideview any longer,” replied Sweet William, gravely. This had not yet occurred to Philomène, and now that she realised it she put her head down on the mushroom, and cried bitterly.
“Oh, and I used to think it such a dull little house,” she sobbed, “and now I shall be ever so sorry to leave it. I have found a fairy in the garden, and another indoors, and a witch and a White Létiche as well, such a dear, pretty little White Létiche. Are the fairies going to leave me, Sweet William, all because Daddy wants to marry again?”
“You are not putting the matter quite fairly,” replied Sweet William, with a momentary return of his severest manner, “it is not your father’s marriage in itself which will oblige us to leave you for the present, or rather, you to leave us. It is that the Good People are only the comrades of lonely children, and now you will not be lonely any more. Your godmother will make you a good mother, and a good friend, and you will need us no longer. Remember, Griselda never went up into the cuckoo clock again after she had found a playmate.”
“But even if I have to leave you behind me,” said Philomène, fighting with her tears, “I shall have Master Mustardseed and Queen Mab with me still, and Speedwell and Spirea live at the Cushats.”
Sweet William shook his head. “That makes no difference,” he said, “you will still have a canary and a cat, but not a fairy and a white witch. I daresay you may catch a glimpse of the twins now and then when it is growing dusk, but it will be of no use trying to get them to speak to you, unless they make the first move. Of course I don’t for a moment say that you and I will never meet again; I may very possibly turn up years hence in some other garden. After all, you had the green ribbons on your christening robe, and that will always count for something.”
Philomène dried her tears, but she was far from feeling comforted. She looked sadly all round the little room, and had hard work to prevent them from flowing afresh as she wished Sweet William good-bye. She was half way down the garden path before she remembered that she had left her latchkey sticking in the lock. She went back at once, but it was gone.