"Those little churches had really quite forgotten the time," said Nyla, "but as soon as the big one shouted twelve o'clock they all hurried to pretend they knew it too."
"I wish they wouldn't make such a point of it. There oughtn't to be any time in a place like Illyria. Nothing but eternity, like this."
"Mention it to the League," suggested Nyla happily. "Darling, you can do anything. You are a fairy prince."
The Colonel seemed troubled. Perhaps he remembered that at midnight fairy princes turn back into disinherited cadets, coaches of state into pumpkins. Fairy tales have so many disquieting analogies.
The slow current had drifted them round the North Tower, under the terrace balustrade. All that face of the house lay in thick shadow.
"Gene!" she whispered, clutching him in sudden panic. "What's that? Look, over there on the parapet. Something white."
"I don't see anything," said the Colonel. "Great place for a ghost, though. Surely this
