“Doesn’t she look like a real royal princess, though!” Migwan exclaimed to Hinpoha in the far end of the room. “I feel actually abashed before her, knowing all the while that it’s only playing.”
“O, if she could only have been cured!” Hinpoha sighed in answer. “How much jollier it would have been!”
Migwan echoed the sigh. “Life is very strange,” she said musingly. “Things don’t always come out the way we want them to.”
“That’s so,” said Hinpoha, beginning to see a great many sober possibilities in life which had never before occurred to her.
An automobile horn sounded outside. “There’s Sherry now, bringing Dr. Phillips back from their ride,” said Migwan. “They’ll be coming up in a few minutes.”
The horn sounded again.
“The royal trumpeter!” cried Sylvia. “Our royal father, the king, approaches!”
She settled the crown more firmly upon her head, and sat up very straight on her throne. Her cheeks glowed like roses; her eyes were like great stars. Nyoda watched her keenly for any signs of being overcome with excitement.
From the hall came the sound of footsteps.
“His Majesty, the King,” said Nyoda, throwing open the door with a dramatic flourish.