'Princess Belinda of Carrillon-land is not afraid of christening curses. If Prince Bellamant would like to marry her he had better apply to her Royal Father in the usual way. '_P.S._--I have seen your portrait.' When the Prince got this letter he was very pleased, and wrote at once for Princess Belinda's likeness. Of course they sent him a picture of her Sunday face, which was the most beautiful face in the world. As soon as he saw it he knew that this was not only the most beautiful face in the world, but the dearest, so he wrote to her father by the next post--applying for her hand in the usual way and enclosing the most respectable references. The King told the Princess. 'Come,' said he, 'what do you say to this young man?' And the Princess, of course, said, 'Yes, please.' So the wedding-day was fixed for the first Sunday in June. But when the Prince arrived with all his glorious following of courtiers and men-at-arms, with two pink peacocks and a crown-case full of diamonds for his bride, he absolutely refused to be married on a Sunday. Nor would he give any reason for his refusal. And then the King lost his temper and broke off the match, and the Prince went away. But he did not go very far. That night he bribed a page-boy to show him which was the Princess's room, and he climbed up by the jasmine through the dark rose-scented night, and tapped at the window. 'Who's dhere?' said the Princess inside in the dark. 'Me,' said the Prince in the dark outside. 'Thed id wasnd't true?' said the Princess. 'They toad be you'd ridded away.' 'What a cold you've got, my Princess,' said the Prince hanging on by the jasmine boughs. 'It's not a cold,' sniffed the Princess. 'Then ... oh you dear ... were you crying because you thought I'd gone?' he said. 'I suppose so,' said she. He said, 'You dear!' again, and kissed her hands. '_Why_ wouldn't you be married on a Sunday?' she asked. 'It's the curse, dearest,' he explained, 'I couldn't tell any one but you. The fact is Malevola wasn't asked to my christening so she doomed me to be ... well, she said "moderately good-looking all the week, and too ugly for words on Sundays." So you see! You _will_ be married on a week-day, won't you?' 'But I can't,' said the Princess, 'because I've got a curse too--only I'm ugly all the week and pretty on Sundays.' 'How extremely tiresome,' said the Prince, 'but can't you be cured?' 'Oh yes,' said the Princess, and told him how. 'And you,' she asked, 'is yours quite incurable?' 'Not at all,' he answered, 'I've only got to stay under water for five minutes and the spell will be broken. But you see, beloved, the difficulty is that I can't do it. I've practised regularly, from a boy, in the sea, and in the swimming bath, and even in my wash-hand basin--hours at a time I've practised--but I never can keep under more than two minutes.' 'Oh dear,' said the Princess, 'this is dreadful.' 'It is rather trying,' the Prince answered.