“I think I could be brave without a coat,” said Bernard, and began to undo his pearl buttons.
“Of course you could,” said the Princess. “In fact, you must be brave to begin with, or the coat couldn’t work. It would be no good to a coward. It just keeps your natural valor warm and your wits cool.”
“It makes you braver,” said Kathleen suddenly. “At least I hope it’s me—but I expect it’s the coat. Anyhow, I’m glad it does. Because I do want to be brave. Oh, Princess!”
“Well?” said the Princess, gravely, but not unkindly, “what is it?”
Kathleen stood a moment, her hands twisting in each other and her eyes downcast. Then in an instant she had unbuttoned and pulled off her coat of pearly mail and thrown it at the Princess’s feet.
“I’ll do it without the coat,” she said, and drew a long breath.
The others looked on in silence, longing to help her, but knowing that no one could help her now but herself.
“It was me,” said Kathleen suddenly, and let go a deep breath of relief. “It was me that touched the sky and let in the water; and I am most frightfully sorry, and I know you’ll never forgive me. But—”
“Quick,” said the Princess, picking up the coat, “get into your armor; it’ll prevent your crying.” She hustled Kathleen into the coat and kept her arms around her. “Brave girl,” she whispered. “I’m glad you did it without the coat.” The other three thought it polite to turn away. “Of course,” the Princess added, “I knew—but you didn’t know I knew.”
“How did you know?” said Kathleen.