As Mark drove through the Park across the Serpentine, and saw the black branches of the trees looking as if they had all been sprinkled with a feathery green powder, and noticed the new delicacy in the bright-hued grass, he hailed these signs as fresh confirmation of the approach of summer--a summer that might prove a golden one for him. But as he drew nearer Notting Hill, his spirits sank again. What if this opportunity were to collapse as hopelessly as the first? Mabel would of course have forgotten him--would she let him drop indifferently as before? He felt far from hopeful as he rang the bell. He asked for Miss Dorothy Langton, giving his name as 'Mr. Ernstone,' and was shown into a little room filled with the pretty contrivances which the modern young lady collects around her. He found Dolly there alone, in a very stately and self-possessed mood. 'You can bring up tea here, Champion,' she said, 'and some tea-cake--_you_ like tea-cake of course,' she said to Mark, with something of afterthought. 'Mother and Mabel are out, calling or something,' she added, 'so we shall be quite alone. And now sit down there in that chair and tell me everything you know about fairies.' Mark's heart sank--this was not at all what he had hoped for; but Dolly had thrown herself back in her own chair, with such evident expectation, and a persuasion that she had got hold of an authority on fairy-lore, that he did not dare to expostulate--although in truth his acquaintance with the subject was decidedly limited. 'You can begin now,' said Dolly calmly, as Mark stared blankly into his hat. 'Well,' he said, 'what do you want to know about them?' '_All_ about them,' said Dolly, with the air of a little person accustomed to instant obedience; Mark's letter had not quite dispelled her doubts, and she wanted to be quite certain that such cases as that of the sugar prince were by no means common. 'Well,' said Mark again, clearing his throat, 'they dance round in rings, you know, and live inside flowers, and play tricks with people--that is,' he added, with a sort of idea that he must not encourage superstition, 'they did once--of course there are no such things now.' 'Then how was it that that little girl you knew--who was not me--ate one up?' 'He was the last one,' said Mark. 'But how did he get turned into sugar? Had he done anything wrong?' 'That's how it was.' 'What was it--he hadn't told a story, had he?' 'It's exactly what he _had_ done,' said Mark, accepting this solution gratefully; 'an _awful_ story!' 'What was the story?' Dolly demanded at this, and Mark floundered on, beginning to consider Dolly, for all her pretty looks and ways, a decided little nuisance. 'He--he said the Queen of the Fairies squinted,' he stammered in his extremity. 'Then it was she who turned him into sugar?' 'Of course it was,' said Mark. 'But you said he was the last fairy left!' persisted the terrible Dolly.