"I came to talk to mamma about something," she said, "something that mattered very much. I suppose you know about it too."
The Queen gave her husband an informing look.
"And what do you think she did?" Charlotte continued. "First she told me not to be foolish; and after that, to everything I said she went on—just as if she didn't hear me—knitting, knitting!"
"She says," interrupted the Queen, "that she is not going to marry anybody, and particularly not the Prince, because she hates him. I say how can she know when she hasn't seen him."
"I won't marry him!" cried Charlotte, "I've seen his photograph."
"Yes, and you liked it," said her mother. This did not improve matters.
"But nobody is forcing you to marry him," said the King. "I don't know why it has even been mentioned." And, seeking a clue, he cast a troubled glance at the Queen.
"It's in all the papers!" retorted Charlotte, indulging in poetic license. "And you know it! Yes, he is coming here to look at me, to see if he likes me, and to see if I can pretend to like him. But I won't be looked at, it's an indignity I won't stand. I'll not even see him!"
"But why ever not?" exclaimed her father.
Charlotte wriggled with impatience.