Arkwright answered, too, but not aloud--which was wise.
"Oh dear! you're tired, I know," wailed the fairy, "but if you would please come and help us just a minute! Could you ?" "Why, yes, of course." Billy rose to her feet, still wearily.
Arkwright touched her arm.

She turned and saw his face.

It was very white--so white that her eyes widened in surprised questioning.
As if answering the unspoken words, the man shook his head.
"I can't, now, of course," he said.

"But there _is_ something I want to say--a story I want to tell you--after to-morrow, perhaps.

May I ?" To Billy, the tremor of his voice, the suffering in his eyes, and the "story" he was begging to tell could have but one interpretation: Alice Greggory.