"N—nothing. Go on. I was so—so interested," explained Miss Holbrook faintly. "Go on."
And David did go on; nor did the story lose by his telling. It gained, indeed, something, for now it had woven through it the very strong sympathy of a boy who loved the Pauper for his sorrow and hated the Princess for causing that sorrow.
"And so," he concluded mournfully, "you see it isn't a very nice story, after all, for it didn't end well a bit. They ought to have got married and lived happy ever after. But they didn't."
Miss Holbrook drew in her breath a little uncertainly, and put her hand to her throat. Her face now, instead of being red, was very white.
"But, David," she faltered, after a moment, "perhaps he—the—Pauper—did not—not love the Princess any longer."
"Mr. Jack said that he did."
The white face went suddenly pink again.
"Then, why didn't he go to her and—and—tell her?"
David lifted his chin. With all his dignity he answered, and his words and accent were Mr. Jack's.
"Paupers don't go to Princesses, and say 'I love you.'"