It was a stupid question of course, and she did not attempt to answer it, but came up close to him, picking her way neatly between the flower-beds. The moon gleamed on her shiny black shoes and on her shiny yellow hair; over her summer dress she wore a red cloak, but it was open and only held to her by two thin bands about the neck. Under the hood he saw her elf-like face, the expression grave, but the eyes bright with excitement, and she moved softly over the grass like a shadow, timidly, yet without hesitation. A small, warm hand stole into his. Paul put his pipe, still alight, into his pocket like a naughty boy caught smoking, and turned to face her. ‘’Pon my soul, Nixie, I believe you really _are_ a sprite!’ She let go his hand and sprang away lightly over the lawn, laughing silently, her hood dropping off so that her hair flew out in a net to catch the moonlight, and for an instant he imagined he was looking at running water, swift and dancing; but the very next second she was back at his side again, the red hood replaced, the cloak gathered tightly about her slim person, feeling for his big hand again with both of her own. ‘At night I _am_ a sprite,’ she whispered laughing, ‘and mind I don’t bewitch you altogether!’ She drew him gently across the lawn, choosing the direction with evident purpose, and he, curiously and suddenly bereft of all initiative, allowed her to do as she would. ‘But, please, Uncle Paul,’ she went on with vast gravity,’ I want you to be serious now. I’ve something to say to you, and that’s why I’m not in bed when I ought to be. All the other Sprites are about too, you know, so be very careful how you answer.’ The big man allowed himself to be led away. He felt his armour dropping off in great flakes as he went. No light is so magical as in that mingled hour of sun and moon when the west is still burning and the east just a-glimmer with the glory that is to come. Paul felt it strongly. He was half with the sun and half with the moon, and the gates of fantasy seemed somewhere close at hand. Curtains were being drawn aside, veils lifting, doors softly opening. He almost heard the rush of the wind behind, and tasted the keen, sweet excitement of another world. He turned sharply to look at his companion. But first he put the hood back, for she seemed more human that way. ‘Well, child!’ he said, as gruffly as he could manage, ‘and what is it you have stayed up so late to ask me?’ ‘It’s something I have to say to you, not to _ask_,’ she replied at once demurely. There was a delicious severity about her. After a pause of twenty seconds she tripped round in front of him and stared full into his face. He felt as though she cried ‘Hands up’ and held a six-shooter to his head. She pulled the trigger that same moment. ‘Isn’t it time now to stop writing all those Reports, and to take off your dressing-up things?’ she asked with decision.