This seems to have been the end of the Professor, regarded as a sane
and intelligent member of modern society. He had not been sure at
the time, but it was now revealed to him that when he had urged
Malvina to test her strength, so to express it, on the unfortunate
Mrs. Arlington, it was with the conviction that the result would
restore him to his mental equilibrium. That Malvina with a wave of
her wand--or whatever the hocus-pocus may have been--would be able
to transform the hitherto incorrigibly indolent and easy-going Mrs.
Arlington into a sort of feminine Lloyd George, had not really
entered into his calculations.

Forgetting his lunch, he must have wandered aimlessly about, not
returning home until late in the afternoon. During dinner he
appears to have been rather restless and nervous--"jumpy," according
to the evidence of the little serving maid. Once he sprang out of
his chair as if shot when the little serving maid accidentally let
fall a table-spoon; and twice he upset the salt. It was at mealtime
that, as a rule, the Professor found his attitude towards Malvina
most sceptical. A fairy who could put away quite a respectable cut
from the joint, followed by two helpings of pie, does take a bit of
believing in. To-night the Professor found no difficulty. The
White Ladies had never been averse to accepting mortal hospitality.
There must always have been a certain adaptability. Malvina, since
that fateful night of her banishment, had, one supposes, passed
through varied experiences. For present purposes she had assumed
the form of a jeune fille of the twentieth century (anno Domini).
An appreciation of Mrs. Muldoon's excellent cooking, together with a
glass of light sound claret, would naturally go with it.