For the first time in her life, Barrie saw the door that led to the garret stairs standing ajar. Itwas always, always locked, as is correct, though irritating, for a door that leads toFairyland.In Barrie's Outer Life that her grandmother knew, and Miss Hepburn knew, and Mrs. Muirthe housekeeper knew, there was-Heaven be praised!-no romance at all; for romance isan evil thing, still worse, a frivolous thing, which may be avoided for a well-brought-up girlthough whopping-cough may not; and already this same evil had wrought vast damageamong the MacDonalds of Dhrum. In the Inner Life of Barrie, however, there was nothingworth thinking about except romance; and the door of the garret stairs was one of theprincipal roads to the forbidden land.She stopped in front of it. At first she could not believe her eyes. Her heart had given aglorious bound, which, only to have felt once in its full ecstasy, was worth the bother ofbeing born into a family where there were no mothers or fathers, but only-ah, what anawesome only!-grim old Grandma MacDonald and Grandma MacDonald's grim old housewhere Carlisle ends and moorlands begin.It is difficult to be sure of things when your heart is beating nineteen to the dozen, and thespecial thing, or mirage of a thing, seems-judging from all else that has happened in OuterLife-much too good to be true. Yet there it was, that streak of dull, mote-misted gold, painting what actually appeared to be a crack between the dark frame of the door and thedark old door itself-just such gold as Barrie had seen at least once a day ever since shecould remember (except when mumps and measles kept her in bed) by applying an eye tothe keyhole. "Fairy gold" she had named it.The only person who ever went into the garret was Mrs. Muir, and though she had the air ofmaking no secret of such expeditions, it had always struck Barrie as deliciously, thrillinglystrange that invariably she turned the key of the stairway door upon herself the instant shewas on the other side, and religiously performed the same ceremony on letting herself out."Ceremony" really was the word, because the key was large, ancient, and importantlooking, and squeaked sepulchrally while it turned. Barrie knew all this, because in springand autumn, when Mrs. Muir paid her visits to fairylands forlorn beyond the oak door, Barrie lurked under cover of the convenient, thick, and well-placed shadow behind thegrandfather clock on the landing.It was not autumn now, which was part of the mystery, after these endless years of routine(they seemed endless to Barrie at eighteen), and she would certainly have missed the eventhad this not been her keyhole hour.