"Every one, of course. Besides, one's looks aren't everything." "I know differently. Looks _are_ everything. But I don't care if people trouble about me or not, or anything they do, or think, or say!" "What _are_ you putting on, Christobel? Not _that_, surely!" "Yes. Same old Red Riding Hood cape and green skirt--does for indoors or out. Same old crew about, I suppose?" "I suppose so. But it's Christmas Eve. Those loose things don't even suit you. Let me lend you a new frock which I have, just the same as this; we can arrange ribbons of your colour, red. We're the same height, and it will suit you quite as well as it suits me." "A nice comparison people would draw, eh?" sneered Christobel; and being ready she took the sleepy Shah in her arms and stalked downstairs with him faintly mewing his protests, leaving her sister to follow if she liked. In the ball-room Christobel superciliously took no notice of the respectful greetings of the Court. She was naturally shy, reserved too, and sensitive as to her appearance and lack of charm. But Veronica had a kind word for every one, stopping to greet with a smile or a merry jest all present; for they all adored her for her sweetness, graciousness, and extraordinary beauty. There wasn't a man but who would have died for her, nor a woman but who felt better for her radiant presence. Little Love suddenly appeared and whispered something to Princess Veronica, who blushed, was confused, and said in a low voice to her sister-- "Prince Olivin is here! Papa has sent for me." "You might have told me he was coming," replied Christobel, turning pale. "But I never knew, indeed." Her sister had turned away, and Little Love was leading Veronica towards the antechamber. It seemed to Princess Christobel as though every face in the ball-room was a mask, and behind that mask were eyes that gleamed with mockery--that she had only to turn her back, and fingers of scorn and derision would mark her passage--and she turned and fled, never pausing in her course through the long passages and up the marble stairway until she was back in her room, where she flung the poor Shah and herself on the bed and burst into a torrent of tears and lamentations in her loneliness, disappointment, and jealousy. The kitten, too, looked unusually blue, and mewed disconsolately--felt bored, then purred, stretched its little self on the coverlet, and fell asleep again. Before long the sound of the heralds' silver trumpets pierced right up into Christobel's ears-- _Par_--parraparpar--_pip_--ha! _Par_--parraparpar--_paar_--_r_! And she knew that the engagement was then being announced of Princess Veronica to Prince Olivin; and the strains of the Waltz of the Affianced which followed, played by the Court musicians, confirmed the fact.