“Oh, that’s good—very good! I wonder how the feast is getting on in the Wilderness?”
“They won’t come out yet, not till the moon shines.”
“Think of their little silver slippers twinkling like dewdrops on the grass.”
“I wish I could see them, daddy. Have you ever seen a fairy?”
“I think I’ve caught a glimpse of one, now and again. But you have to be ever so good to see fairies.”
“You ought to have seen lots, then, daddy.”
He laughed, the quiet, meditative laugh of the man wise in his own humility.
“There are more wonderful things than fairies, Lynette. I’ll tell you about them some day.”
“Yes, do.”
She sat up in bed, her hair a dark flowing mass about her slim face and throat, and Canterton was reminded of some exquisite white bud that promised to be an exquisite flower.