"Oh, Christobel! How can you say such unkind, unjust things?" protested poor Veronica with a sob.
"If you want to cry," said Christobel crossly, "you shouldn't do so until you go to sleep. You cry so easily; and then your bright eyes look heavy, and your aquiline nose gets red, and the whole Castle gets upset about them. Who cares if my eyes are red?"
"Every one, of course. Besides, one's looks aren't everything."
"I know differently. Looks are everything. But I don't care if people trouble about me or not, or anything they do, or think, or say!"
"What are you putting on, Christobel? Not that, surely!"
"Yes. Same old Red Riding Hood cape and green skirt—does for indoors or out. Same old crew about, I suppose?"
"I suppose so. But it's Christmas Eve. Those loose things don't even suit you. Let me lend you a new frock which I have, just the same as this; we can arrange ribbons of your colour, red. We're the same height, and it will suit you quite as well as it suits me."
"A nice comparison people would draw, eh?" sneered Christobel; and being ready she took the sleepy Shah in her arms and stalked downstairs with him faintly mewing his protests, leaving her sister to follow if she liked.
In the ball-room Christobel superciliously took no notice of the respectful greetings of the Court. She was naturally shy, reserved too, and sensitive as to her appearance and lack of charm. But Veronica had a kind word for every one, stopping to greet with a smile or a merry jest all present; for they all adored her for her sweetness, graciousness, and extraordinary beauty. There wasn't a man but who would have died for her, nor a woman but who felt better for her radiant presence. Little Love suddenly appeared and whispered something to Princess Veronica, who blushed, was confused, and said in a low voice to her sister—
"Prince Olivin is here! Papa has sent for me."