Unspeakably sweet were Fay's words to me, yet I felt bound in honour to show her how wrong she was. "My dear little girl, you are out of it altogether this time. I am not a bit what you think." "Yes, you are. But you are not a bit what you think," she retorted. "Yes, I am. You, in the kindness and goodness of your heart, imagine that I am younger than I am, because I look younger--at least, so my friends tell me, but I am really old, my child, and in a few years' time--when you are in the full glory of your womanhood--I shall be very old indeed." This I felt to be neatly put, as showing Fay--without my saying it--that I was too old to ask her to marry me, much as I might wish it. It cut me to the heart to put voluntarily from me even the off-chance of a happiness which far exceeded my wildest dreams; but I felt in honour bound to do it. How dare I take advantage of my darling's youth and inexperience to tie her to a man old enough to be her father? If I did such a thing as that, I could never respect myself again. I had never longed for youth as I longed for it now, but wishing a thing is so, does not make it so, and the sooner that men and women realise this hard truth the better for them and for all concerning them. I knew that it was possible to make Fay love me--or rather, to make her imagine that she loved me. At present she saw no men of her own class, save myself and Blathwayte, and, without, I think, undue vanity on my part, I could not help realising that I was more attractive than--though in every other way infinitely inferior to--Arthur. But when she grew older and went out into the world and saw more men of her own age whom she could really love, she would never forgive me--as I could never forgive myself--if through my selfishness she had lost the substance for the shadow. I had been a failure in every other walk of life, but I made up my mind that I would not be a failure as a lover. Though I had failed in everything else, I would not fail in my love for Fay. Because I loved her so much, I would sternly forego any possibility of her ever loving me and spoiling her young life thereby. Then when the time came for her to be awakened by the Fairy Prince who was somewhere waiting for her, she would bless and thank me (if she remembered me at all) for having left her free to enjoy the happiness that was her due; while as for me--well, it wouldn't much matter what became of me, as long as Fay was happy. Still I wished she wouldn't smile as if she saw through my armour with those elfin eyes of hers. Suddenly sounds of laughter came to us from the house. "Let's go and see what's up," cried Fay, who never could resist the sound of laughter. So indoors she ran, with me after her, through the garden door and down the passage into the great hall. And there a strange sight met our eyes.