s just like a fairy story
having my father come back, and take me to Angel in a motor car on
Christmas eve."

"Good gracious!" exclaimed Hugh Egerton. "Did you say--father?"

"Yes," replied Rosemary. "You're almost like a fairy father, I said."

So, he was her father--her long lost father! Poor little lamb, he began
to guess at the story now. There was a scamp of a father who had "not
been very kind" to Angel, and had been lost, or had thoughtfully lost
himself. For some extraordinary reason the child imagined that he--well,
if it were not pathetic, it would be funny. But somehow he did not feel
much inclined to laugh. Poor little thing! His heart yearned over her;
but the situation was becoming strained. Unless he could think of some
good way out of it, he might have a scene when he was obliged to rob the
child of her father, on reaching the door of her house.

"That's it," said he, calling all his tact to the rescue. "I am a fairy
father. Just as you thought, it's a mistake of Jane's about there being
no fairies; only the trouble is, fairies aren't so powerful as they used
to be in the old days. Now, I should love to be able to stay with you
for a long, long time, but because I'm only a poor fairy father, I
can't. We've been very happy together, and I'm tremendously glad you
found me. I shall think of you and of this day, often. But the cruel
part is, that when I bring you to your door, I'm afraid I shall have
to--vanish."

"Oh, how dreadful!" cried Rosemary, her voice quivering. "Must I lose
you again?"

"Perhaps I can write to you," Hugh tried to console her, feeling
horribly guilty and helpless.

"That won't be the same. I do love you so much. _Please_ don't vanish."

"I shall send you things. A doll's house for Evie. By the way, you
didn't tell me why you named her that."

"After Angel, of course," returned the child absent-mindedly. "But when
you've vanished, I--"

"Is your mother's name Evie?"

"Evelyn. But that's too long for a doll."

"Evelyn--what? You--you haven't told me your name yet."

"Rosemary Evelyn Clifford."

"Great Heavens!"

"How strange your voice sounds," said Rosemary. "Are you ill?"

"No--no! I--feel a little odd, that's all."

"Oh, it isn't the vanishing coming on already? We're a long way from our
hotel yet."

Hugh drove mechanically, though sky and sea and mountains seemed to be
seething together, as if in the convulsions of an earthquake.

Her child! And her husband