"Well then, do you think 'John' too commonplace a name for the wood-cutter?"
Honor starts a little.
"I think you might find one better suited to a fairy tale," she says quietly.
"Do you? Oh, I think it would do so well. O yes, certainly; his name must be John. You can settle the next question for me. Daisy says the wood-cutter is to ask the princess to marry him. Shall he do so, Honor?"
Poor Honor! She cannot get off the stile, because there sits the doctor below, making her descent practically impossible until he chooses to move; and her broad-brimmed hat, though effectually shading her eyes from the sun, cannot shield her from the earnest eyes looking up so anxiously into her face. She cannot put up her sun-shade either, for both her hands are now imprisoned, and while flushing painfully she tries to withdraw them, she looks away across the fields and says nothing.
"Won't you answer me, Honor?" he says after a minute.
"I—I think it would be a pity for him to ask her," she says in a low voice.
"Why?"
Honor brings her face round again, and with a great effort continues speaking in the light manner in which they began, notwithstanding that her hands are still held tightly.
"Why," she says with a little smile. "Don't you remember that the princess had a lot of brothers and sisters, and—and they might not like her to go away, and she might not think it right to leave them, you know."