"When you get your little silver cap on with one of Auntie's diamond rings sewed in it, why, you'll be too magnificent for anything," said Polly, now pulling and patting with fresh enthusiasm, since the "purple dash" was forthcoming.
"Princesses don't wear silver caps with diamond rings sewed in them," observed Phronsie wisely.
"Of course not; they have diamonds by the bushel, and don't need to sew rings in their caps to make them sparkle," said Polly, plaiting and pinning rapidly, "but in dressing up for a play, we have to take a poetic license. There, turn just one bit to the right, Phronsie dear."
"What's poetic license?" demanded Phronsie, wrenching her imagination off from the bushel of diamonds to seize practical information.
"Oh! when a man writes verses and says things that aren't so," said
Polly, her mind on the many details before her.
"But he ought not to," cried Phronsie, with wide eyes, "say things that are not so. I thought poets were always very good, Polly."
"Oh! well, people let him," said Polly, carelessly, "because he puts it into poetry. It would never do in prose; that would be quite shocking."
"Oh!" said Phronsie, finding the conversation some alleviation to the fitting-on process.
"Now this left side," said Polly, twisting her head to obtain a good view of the point in question, "is just right; I couldn't do it any better if I were to try a thousand times. Why won't this other one behave, and fall into a pretty curve, I wonder?"
Phronsie yawned softly as the brown eyes were safely behind her.