CIS was seated on her narrow pallet, her back against the prized excelsior cushion, her knees drawn up within the circle of her slender arms. About her shoulders tumbled her hair, its glossy waves framing a face, pale and tense, in which her eyes were wide pools of black. Johnnie was just below her on the floor, his quilt spread under him for comfort, a bare foot nursed in either hand. The combined positions were such as invariably made for confidences. And he guessed that what she had to tell him now was something unusually important and exciting. "Johnnie," she whispered, and he saw himself dancing in those dark pools; "--oh, if I don't tell it to somebody, I'll just _die_! Oh, Johnnie, what do you think? What do you _think_?" He thought; then, "New shoes?" he hazarded. "A new dress? A--a--more money at the fact'ry? Or"--and in an excited rush--"another book!" "_Oh!_" She lifted her face to the ceiling, wagging her head helplessly. "Shoes! or a dress! or money! or a book! They're nothing, Johnnie, alongside of the truth--just _nothing_!" "Well, then, what?" he asked, leaning forward encouragingly. "Go on, Cis! Tell me!" "Johnnie Smith,"--impressively--"you're sitting beside a young lady that's going to be married!" Johnnie gasped. "_Married?_" He fell back from her, the better to stare. He had expected an important communication; but he was not prepared for anything so astounding as this. She nodded. "Right away." Going to be married! So that was why she seemed so different, so changed! that was why she had been wearing her hair up, and fussing so often with her nails! why she cared no longer for Edwarda! why she could not see the people of his thinks! It was simple enough, now that he understood. Of course with a wedding in view, naturally she was grown-up; and a girl, whenever she got grown-up, could not let her braids hang down her back. And as for fine hands-- "Y' mean y've heard from the _Prince_?" he demanded. She laughed. "No-o-o-o! Oh, Johnnie, you silly!" He knit his brows and regarded her reprovingly. "Well," he argued, "y' always told me how much y' love him." "But I didn't ever know him even! And that was a long time ago!--No, it's some one else, and really a Prince, because he's so splendid! Oh, Johnnie, guess! Guess the most wonderful person ever! Guess a knight! Like Galahad! Oh, he's _exactly_ like Galahad!" Now she gazed past him. There were tears on her eyelashes. Her parted lips were trembling. "I'm too happy almost to live!" she added. Then down went her forehead to rest on her knees, and he saw that she was trembling all over. There was a long silence. Just at first he had felt inclined to taunt her a little for being so changeable in her affections, so flighty; and it had hurt his opinion of her, this knowledge that she could be disloyal. But now he was curious. Who was really a Prince? and splendid? and like Galahad?