The room became filled with magic. Spells of pure joy were woven from the tracery of June’s feet, and governed all but one. The butler and his men, waiting with the imperturbability of grenadiers on parade, were inclined to dance in chorus; but discipline and the knowledge that the Duchess’s eyes were upon them kept them prim. Still the fairy danced. Here and there she tripped over the damask, flitting airily round the epergnes with their young summer flowers; then up and about the heads of the guests, stimulating their ideas, giving them delightful poetical fancies, poising now and then, with dainty foot and wings outspread, on the brims of the glasses, making all of them glad, all of them glad but--the Duchess. She alone, during that period of enchantment, remained unimpressed and obdurate. Fashion is a petrifying influence. Her Grace, who regarded it as her duty always with stiff lips to overlook the unfashionable, was at present beyond even the softening powers of June. She remained as stone, unsympathetic, uncomprehending. Conversation was dumb during that terpsichorean spell. June rested at length, and flew, well-pleased, to couch among the flowers. "Bravo!" cried Lord Geoffrey. "Eh?" inquired the Duke, putting on his pince-nez, and peering through them at his son. The word of applause seemed to fit in with his mood exactly, but he did not understand its applicability. "I said ’Bravo!’ bravo to the Archdeacon, who, with characteristic courage, is going to justify his faith in those essences, the fairies." "Ah yes, of course, of course! Please instruct us; we are attentive, Mr. Archdeacon." It is not easy to make any detailed expression of opinion or justification of faith over well-cooked food. That is an occasion for wit and brevity--epigram was born at a dinner-table. The Archdeacon felt his disadvantage, especially as the eyes of the Duchess, like the orbs of a mild Medusa, were expressing disapprobation. "I cannot pretend, your Grace, to be able, under the circumstances, to justify my faith in the fairies," he declared, while thoughtfully cutting his _poussin_. "I can only assert that faith, and prove its truth as I live by acting up to its principles and helping to make the world more beautiful and happy." "Ruskin and soda-water! Eh? What?" murmured Sir Claude, glancing round for the laughter which did not come. The Archdeacon, to whom flippancy was more than a venial sin, felt inclined to crush the Baronet; but succeeded in effectually ignoring him, which was worse. "Imagination is, without doubt, required to realize the existence of the fairies. They are not tangible, as are, say, bricks. But is that a difficulty? Imagination is requisite before we can appreciate the existence of ether, and several other essences--to use Lord Geoffrey’s word--which we know well are about us, and affect us, though we cannot see, smell, taste, handle, or otherwise comprehend them."