Further conversation was here stopped. The two men, while they thus talked, had been diverging from the straight way across the lawn towards the ladies, turning into sequestered paths through the shrubbery; now they emerged into the open sward, just before a table, on which coffee was served, and round which all the rest of the party were gathered. “I hope, Mr. Emlyn,” said Elsie’s cheery voice, “that you have dissuaded Mr. Chillingly from turning Papist. I am sure you have taken time enough to do so.” Mr. Emlyn, Protestant every inch of him, slightly recoiled from Kenelm’s side. “Do you meditate turning--” He could not conclude the sentence. “Be not alarmed, my dear sir. I did but own to Mrs. Braefield that I had paid a visit to Oxford in order to confer with a learned man on a question that puzzled me, and as abstract as that feminine pastime, theology, is now-a-days. I cannot convince Mrs. Braefield that Oxford admits other puzzles in life than those which amuse the ladies.” Here Kenelm dropped into a chair by the side of Lily. Lily half turned her back to him. “Have I offended again?” Lily shrugged her shoulders slightly and would not answer. “I suspect, Miss Mordaunt, that among your good qualities, nature has omitted one; the bettermost self within you should replace it.” Lily here abruptly turned to him her front face: the light of the skies was becoming dim, but the evening star shone upon it. “How! what do you mean?” “Am I to answer politely or truthfully?” “Truthfully! Oh, truthfully! What is life without truth?” “Even though one believes in fairies?” “Fairies are truthful, in a certain way. But you are not truthful. You were not thinking of fairies when you--” “When I what?” “Found fault with me.” “I am not sure of that. But I will translate to you my thoughts, so far as I can read them myself, and to do so I will resort to the fairies. Let us suppose that a fairy has placed her changeling into the cradle of a mortal: that into the cradle she drops all manner of fairy gifts which are not bestowed on mere mortals; but that one mortal attribute she forgets. The changeling grows up; she charms those around her: they humour, and pet, and spoil her. But there arises a moment in which the omission of the one mortal gift is felt by her admirers and friends. Guess what that is.” Lily pondered. “I see what you mean; the reverse of truthfulness, politeness.” “No, not exactly that, though politeness slides into it unawares: it is a very humble quality, a very unpoetic quality; a quality that many dull people possess; and yet without it no fairy can fascinate mortals, when on the face of the fairy settles the first wrinkle. Can you not guess it now?” “No: you vex me; you provoke me;” and Lily stamped her foot petulantly, as in Kenelm’s presence she had stamped it once before. “Speak plainly, I insist.”