June was alive now. Her wings quivered with indignation. The crown on her head blazed with elf-light. She was angry, angry. But she made no movement, only sat upright on the salt-box, keenly attentive to what those clay creatures would say. "If you do start author, Katie," said the Duke to Mrs. Thyme, "you must cultivate an eccentricity or two, mustn’t she, Mr. le Dare?" "Oh, I don’t know, Duke!" "Oh, must I?" she exclaimed, eagerness alight in her eyes. "Do tell me an eccentricity or two!" "Sorry I can’t, Mrs. Thyme. All my spare time is occupied with thinking out my own eccentricities, what few I indulge in. No; what you really require is to be earnestly business-like, and to see well after the advertisement of your books." Then a bearded Baronet, who wore a sparkling monocle, and thought it humorous to be interfering, joined in. "Talkin’ of fairies and the Lord Mayor," he said, "weren’t you mixed up in that little business at the Mansion House, Mr. Archdeacon? Eh? What?" Eyes turned to the person addressed, who, finding his theories not promising to be popular in that company, was willing to remain silent while the tide of depreciation flowed. All his life he had been on the side of the cheers. June looked at him. She was eager to see how he endured the test. If he failed and proved faithless, the power of Fairyland would be lessened thereby, for faith is the strength-giver. She did nothing to influence him. Though, in her indignation, magic emanated from her personality, it was not to affect him. He sipped his sherry, and answered with deliberation, while the others hearkened with all their ears. "I was there, Sir Claude. It was a wonderful occasion. The place seemed charmed, enchanted. Everyone of the company--City magnates, practical men, merchants, and so on--made resolutions for the good of our fellows. Under that influence of enchantment I made resolutions also. I believe we have all of us kept them." There was a little while of silence only interrupted by the slithering of the knives and forks. "Archdeacon, do you really believe in the fairies?" asked Mrs. Thyme, in her tingle-tangle voice. June, piqued by the doubt in the question, wondered whether the colour of Mrs. Billie’s hair was born or made. "I do, absolutely. I am proud to be positive that they exist." "Tush!" said Douglas le Dare. "They exist," the Archdeacon re-affirmed. Victory! June slid from the salt-cellar and began a dance of rejoicing, of triumph--a _pas-de-seul_ among the wine-cups. None of the company could see her; it was loveliness lost to mortal eyes. Only the Archdeacon, who possessed some store of fairy faith, had a glimmering of the gaiety and beauty of the motion-poem then being made. It nerved him to do battle for what he would have called Oberon’s cause.