He took it off his arm and laid it upon the table, and as soon as the Princess touched it, it grew small, small, small, so that she could put it on her finger. Then she said: 'I wish I were my right size again!' And the archer rubbed his eyes, for there on the table stood the dazzling figure of a real, full-sized Princess in a cloth-of-silver gown, and a face more beautiful than the morning. 'Oh, how lovely you are!' he said, and gave her his hand to help her down. She jumped lightly from the table and stood before him, laughing with joy at being her own real right size once more. 'Oh, thank you! thank you!' she cried; 'I must run and show my father this very minute.' 'The jewel?' said the archer. 'Oh!' said Pandora. 'Well, yes, I did promise, but--well, I'm a Princess of my word. Here it is.' She held it out, but he did not take it. 'You may keep it for ever and ever, Princess dear,' he said, 'if you will only marry me.' 'Oh, I can't!' she cried. 'I'm never going to marry anyone unless I love him more than all the world.' 'I feel as if I'd loved you all my lives,' said Muscadel--'all my life, I mean. Couldn't you wish to love me?' 'I don't think I want to,' said the Princess doubtfully. 'Then I must have the jewel. I'll find some way yet of making you love me, and then you shall have it for ever and ever.' 'If I loved you,' said she, 'I suppose I shouldn't mind your having red hair, and a red face, and red ears, and red hands, should I?' 'Not a bit,' said the archer cheerfully. She stood there, twisting the magic jewel round and round on her Royal finger. 'I suppose it's more important than anything else to love someone?' she said. 'Much,' said he. 'Well, then,' said she, 'but are you the sort of person I ought to love?' 'No,' said he, 'I'm not half good enough for you. But then nobody is.' 'That's nice of you, anyhow,' she said. 'I'll do it. I wish I loved you!' There was a silence. Then Pandora said: 'Nothing's happened. I don't love you. I feel just the same as usual. Your hair, and hands, and face, and ears are redder than ever. You'll excuse my candour, won't you?' 'Then there's nothing for it but for me to wish not to love you,' said Muscadel, 'for I really can't bear loving you to this desperate degree when you don't care a snap of your Royal fingers for me. Lend me the jewel a moment. You shall have it back. If you don't care for me, I don't want to care for anything. I'll live and die a red-faced, red-eared, red-haired, red-handed archer, so I will.' The Princess lent him the jewel, and he wished and waited. Then, 'It's no good,' he said; 'I adore you as much as ever--more, if possible.' 'Ah, I see,' said the Princess; 'there _is_ one thing that the magic ring won't touch. I suppose that's love. How funny!' 'I don't think it's funny at all,' said he. 'I suppose really it's because you're not the sort of person that could love the sort of person I am.'