Now why should Hermione's shapely head have drooped and drooped until at last her face was hidden on the pillow? And why should Geoffrey Ravenslee reach to touch the child's hair with hand so light and tender?
"The beautiful City of Perhaps," said he gently, "why, Princess, where did you learn about that?"
"From dear Princess Nobody, oh, Prince!"
"And who is she?"
"Why, she's Hermy, Prince—and I'm Princess Somebody. And oh, Hermy dear, you do 'member where you left off now, don't you?"
"Yes, I remember; but I—don't feel like telling fairy stories now, dear."
"Oh! are y' sick?" cried the child anxiously, touching Hermione's golden hair with loving fingers, "is it a headache like my mumsey gets?"
"N-no, dear, only I—I don't feel like telling any more of our story—to-night—somehow, dear."
"Princess," said Ravenslee, "do you know much about the wonderful City of Perhaps?"
"Oh, yes—an' I dream about it sometimes, Prince—such beautiful dreams!"