'Such an unusual arrangement,' said the King, 'would involve very awkward explanations, and I can't think of any except the true ones, which would be quite impossible to give. You see, we should want a first-class prince, and no really high-toned Highness would take a wife on those terms.' 'It's a thoroughly comfortable kingdom,' said the Queen doubtfully. 'The young man would be handsomely provided for for life.' 'I couldn't marry Belinda to a time-server or a place-worshipper,' said the King decidedly. Meanwhile the Princess had taken the matter into her own hands. She had fallen in love. You know, of course, that a handsome book is sent out every year to all the kings who have daughters to marry. It is rather like the illustrated catalogues of Liberty's or Peter Robinson's, only instead of illustrations showing furniture or ladies' cloaks and dresses, the pictures are all of princes who are of an age to be married, and are looking out for suitable wives. The book is called the 'Royal Match Catalogue Illustrated,'--and besides the pictures of the princes it has little printed bits about their incomes, accomplishments, prospects, and tempers, and relations. Now the Princess saw this book--which is never shown to princesses, but only to their parents--it was carelessly left lying on the round table in the parlour. She looked all through it, and she hated each prince more than the one before till she came to the very end, and on the last page of all, screwed away in a corner, was the picture of a prince who was quite as good-looking as a prince has any call to be. 'I like _you_,' said Belinda softly. Then she read the little bit of print underneath. _Prince Bellamant, aged twenty-four. Wants Princess who doesn't object to a christening curse. Nature of curse only revealed in the strictest confidence. Good tempered. Comfortably off. Quiet habits. No relations._ 'Poor dear,' said the Princess. 'I wonder what the curse is! I'm sure _I_ shouldn't mind!' The blue dusk of evening was deepening in the garden outside. The Princess rang for the lamp and went to draw the curtain. There was a rustle and a faint high squeak--and something black flopped on to the floor and fluttered there. 'Oh--it's a bat,' cried the Princess, as the lamp came in. 'I don't like bats.' 'Let me fetch a dust-pan and brush and sweep the nasty thing away,' said the parlourmaid. 'No, no,' said Belinda, 'it's hurt, poor dear,' and though she hated bats she picked it up. It was horribly cold to touch, one wing dragged loosely. 'You can go, Jane,' said the Princess to the parlourmaid. Then she got a big velvet-covered box that had had chocolate in it, and put some cotton wool in it and said to the Bat-- 'You poor dear, is that comfortable?' and the Bat said: 'Quite, thanks.' 'Good gracious,' said the Princess jumping. 'I didn't know bats could talk.'