And the Prince lay tossing on his bed only half dreaming, and not pleasantly, of some one, and it was the Princess. As for the Knight of London, nobody knows what he dreamt about; and, to tell the truth, nobody cared. But the Owl sat at the head of the Princess’s bed, and slept calmly,—he did not dream; owls are not in the habit of dreaming—they are a good deal wiser.
When the next morning came, the Knight of London came with it, and he wanted to know when the Princess would marry him; but the Princess put him off—for somehow, although she liked him very much, she did not altogether relish the idea of marrying so soon. So she told him that he must wait until the Lords of the Council had given their consent, and they were not going to meet till the next day, so he would have to wait till then. But the Knight did not like this at all.
‘At all events, my dear Princess,’ he said, ‘you might promise to marry me, for, after all, I did win the tournament, you see, and so——’
But the Princess put her hand to her chin and rubbed it softly as if she were thinking very deeply—and no doubt she was—and shook her head emphatically.
‘No; I can’t promise until the Council have given their consent, for you see that would be unconstitutional, and I can’t be that even for you.’
The Knight seemed quite angry.
‘Bother the unconstitutionality,’ he said; ‘what does the stupid old Council want to blunder into such matters?’
But the Princess stopped him:
‘Oh, you mustn’t say that—please don’t say that,’ she said; ‘it’s not a stupid old Council, it’s a very nice old Council, and it’s much nicer than you are. When you get angry like that you’re not at all nice—so just be quiet; now do.’
And he had to be quiet, for he was afraid of making her really angry.