“How delightful!” he exclaimed, but did not hazard a guess, and she continued without giving him a chance:  “I shall establish a Fairy Godmother Fund, the purpose of which shall be the distribution of good times; of pleasures large and small, among people who have few or none.”

“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.

“There are people who contend that there is little or none of it in the world,” he added.

“And I am not sure it was meant there should be—­much of it, I mean.  It is an emotion—­would you call it an emotion?”

“You might,” said the Candy Man.

“Well, an emotion that turns to dust and ashes when you try to experience it, or demand it of others,” concluded Miss Bentley with emphasis.  “And you needn’t laugh,” she added.

The Candy Man disclaimed any thought of such a thing.  He was profoundly serious.  “It is really a great idea,” he said.  “A human agency whose benefits could be received as we receive those of Nature or Providence—­as impersonally.”

She nodded appreciatively.  “You understand.”  And they were both aware of a sense of comradeship scarcely justified by the length of their acquaintance.

“May I ask your ideas as to the amount of this fund?” he said.

She considered a moment.  “Well, say a hundred thousand,” she suggested.

“You are expecting a large bequest, then.”

“An income of five thousand would not be too much,” insisted Miss Bentley.  “We should wish to do bigger things than opera tickets, you know.”