"It sounds," was the Candy Man's comment, "like the minutes of the first
meeting. Please explain further. How will you select your beneficiaries?"

"I don't like your word," she objected. "Beneficiaries and fairy
godmothers somehow do not go together. Still, I see what you mean, and
while I have not as yet worked out the plan, I'm confident it could be
managed. Suppose we know a poor teacher, for instance, who has nothing
left over from her meagre salary after the necessary things are provided
for, and who is, we'll say, hungry for grand opera. We would enclose
opera tickets with a note asking her to go and have a good time, signed,
'Your Fairy Godmother,' and with a postscript something like this, 'If
you cannot use them, hand them on to another of my godchildren.' Don't
you think she would accept them?"

Under the spell of those lovely, serious eyes, the Candy Man rather
thought she would.

"Of course," Miss Bentley went on, "it must be a secret society, never
mentioned in the papers, unknown to those you call its beneficiaries.
In this way there will be no occasion or demand for gratitude. No
obligations will be imposed upon the recipients--that word is as bad as
yours--let's call them godchildren--and the fairy godmother will have
her fun in giving the good times, without bothering over whether they
are properly grateful."

"You seem to have a grievance against gratitude," said the Candy Man
laughing.

"I have," she owned.