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The reference to his own appearance disconcerted the Professor. He had not anticipated, when hastening into his dressing gown and slippers and not bothering about his socks, that he was on his way to meet the chief lady-in-waiting of Queen Harbundia. Demanding that shaving water should be immediately sent up to him, he appears to have retired into the bathroom.

It was while he was shaving that Mrs. Muldoon, knocking at the door, demanded to speak to him. From her tone the Professor came to the conclusion that the house was on fire. He opened the door, and Mrs. Muldoon, seeing he was respectable, slipped in and closed it behind her.

“Where did ye find her? How did she get here?” demanded Mrs. Muldoon. Never before had the Professor seen Mrs. Muldoon other than a placid, good-humoured body. She was trembling from head to foot.

“I told you,” explained the Professor. “Young Arthur–“

“I’m not asking ye what ye told me,” interrupted Mrs. Muldoon. “I’m asking ye for the truth, if ye know it.”

The Professor put a chair for Mrs. Muldoon, and Mrs. Muldoon dropped down upon it.

“What’s the matter?” questioned the Professor. “What’s happened?”

Mrs. Muldoon glanced round her, and her voice was an hysterical whisper.

“It’s no mortal woman ye’ve brought into the house,” said Mrs. Muldoon. “It’s a fairy.”

Whether up to that moment the Professor had really believed Malvina’s story, or whether lurking at the back of his mind there had all along been an innate conviction that the thing was absurd, the Professor himself is now unable to say. To the front of the Professor lay Oxford–political economy, the higher criticism, the rise and progress of rationalism. Behind him, fading away into the dim horizon of humanity, lay an unmapped land where for forty years he had loved to wander; a spirit-haunted land of buried mysteries, lost pathways, leading unto hidden gates of knowledge.

And now upon the trembling balance descended Mrs. Muldoon plump.

“How do you know?” demanded the Professor.

“Shure, don’t I know the mark?” replied Mrs. Muldoon almost contemptuously. “Wasn’t my own sister’s child stolen away the very day of its birth and in its place–“

The little serving maid tapped at the door.

Mademoiselle was “finished.” What was to be done with her?

“Don’t ask me,” protested Mrs. Muldoon, still in a terrified whisper. “I couldn’t do it. Not if all the saints were to go down upon their knees and pray to me.”

Common-sense argument would not have prevailed with Mrs. Muldoon. The Professor felt that; added to which he had not any handy. He directed, through the door, that “Mademoiselle” should be shown into the dining-room, and listened till Drusilla’s footsteps had died away.

“Have you ever heard of the White Ladies?” whispered the Professor to Mrs. Muldoon.

There was not much in the fairy line, one takes it, that Mrs. Muldoon had not heard of and believed. Was the Professor sure?

The Professor gave Mrs. Muldoon his word of honour as a gentleman. The “White Ladies,” as Mrs. Muldoon was of course aware, belonged to the “good people.” Provided nobody offended her there was nothing to fear.

“Shure, it won’t be meself that’ll cross her,” said Mrs. Muldoon.

“She won’t be staying very long,” added the Professor. “We will just be nice to her.”

“She’s got a kind face,” admitted Mrs. Muldoon, “and a pleasant way with her.” The good body’s spirits were perceptibly rising. The favour of a “White Lady” might be worth cultivating.

“We must make a friend of her,” urged the Professor, seizing his opportunity.

“And mind,” whispered the Professor as he opened the door for Mrs. Muldoon to slip out, “not a word. She doesn’t want it known.”

One is convinced that Mrs. Muldoon left the bathroom resolved that, so far as she could help it, no breath of suspicion that Malvina was other than what in Drusilla’s holiday frock she would appear to be should escape into the village. It was quite a pleasant little frock of a summery character, with short sleeves and loose about the neck, and fitted Malvina, in every sense, much better than the most elaborate confection would have done. The boots were not so successful. Malvina solved the problem by leaving them behind her, together with the stockings, whenever she went out. That she knew this was wrong is proved by the fact that invariably she tried to hide them. They would be found in the most unlikely places; hidden behind books in the Professor’s study, crammed into empty tea canisters in Mrs. Muldoon’s storeroom. Mrs. Muldoon was not to be persuaded even to abstract them. The canister with its contents would be placed in silence upon the Professor’s table. Malvina on returning would be confronted by a pair of stern, unsympathetic boots. The corners of the fairy mouth would droop in lines suggestive of penitence and contrition.