So much for the testimony of Bridget Malone. Strangely enough--although the newspapers, thanks chiefly to the Venerable Archdeacon Pryde and Sir Titus Dods, now in the last month of his mayoralty, had made Oberon popular, and it was a beautiful commonplace to have faith in the fairies--no one treated Bridget’s story with proper respect or even with simple common sense. Paradise Court--her own country--was packed with disbelievers, and--is it not always so?
Indirectly, however, her story had one good effect. It set others telling and inventing fairy-tales--spreading a fine fashion. So June, seeing that result, forgave the incredulity. The imagination of the people was awake.
Yes, Bridget had told the truth. The fairy with the crown was "shmilin’ and shmilin’." The last moment of the revel brought June its crowning happiness, a great unexpected cause for joy.
As Bridget has told us, daylight was abroad, and the sun had risen, before the fairy dancing ended.
A white cloud--or it may have been a gulp of white smoke from an awakening workshop chimney--came sailing in the direction of the roof-garden. June watched it, wondering; it seemed charged with mystery.
As it passed overhead, she realized its burden. The magic of the crown gave her power to pierce its secret.
Hidden in the little white cloud was Oberon flying. He had come in disguise to spy out the land; had seen, had passed on his way.
Thus there was a fine full-stop to the revels.
Some notes of interrogation were added by June--"Would Oberon come to resume his reign? Where might Titania be? Was Fairyland at last on the way?"
As soon as the campaign of the pillar-boxes had well begun, and fairy progress was rapidly marching, June settled down to the siege and taming of her Grace of Armingham. That was a difficult fortress to reduce! For weeks the fairy was baffled.
The Duchess, as we know, had many great qualities, which need no advertisement here. Her main defect, which does matter, was a sublime indifference to certain most important sub-lunar things. She had at this time no sympathy, imagination, or gift of genial make-believe; there was nothing for the fairy to fasten to. It was much like trying to grow orchids in a vacuum.