"What ails him?"
"He's a coward. My hero must be brave—for I'm timid."
"Then it will be that fat blond fellow with a jolly laugh?"
"No, he's a fibber. My Prince, when he comes, must be truthful. It's so hard for me always to tell the truth."
"Then it will be that dreamy looking one of fifteen you danced with twice?"
"No, he's too frail. My hero must be strong—for I am weak. And he must have a big, noble ideal of life; for mine is very small—just a little home nest, and a baby, and the love of one man!"
Stuart looked at her intently while a mist gathered in his eyes:
"I'm not sure about that being such a very small ideal, girlie!"
"But oh, my, I've forgotten what I came running home for! Papa sent me to ask you to please come down to the factory right away. He wants to see you on a very important matter. It must be awfully important. He looked so worried. I don't think I ever saw him worried before."
"I'll go at once," Stuart said, closing the window and blowing a kiss to the girl as he hurried down the stairs.