“Because I adore him, and all the girls at school adore him, he is like a real prince; we save up our pocket-money to buy his photographs, and May Smith has actually got his autograph!”
“But tell me why you all adore him?” I asked.
“Because he is so lovely, so tall and handsome, has such a melodious voice, and oh! doesn’t he look too beautiful in his velvet suit as——? He is young and handsome, isn’t he? Oh, do say he is young and handsome,” implored the enthusiastic child.
“I am afraid I cannot, for it would not be true; Mr. A. B. C. is not tall—in fact, he is quite short.” She looked crestfallen. “He has a sallow complexion.”
“Sallow! Oh, not really sallow! but he is handsome and young, isn’t he?”
“I should think he is about fifty-two.”
“Fifty-two!” she almost shrieked. “My A. B. C. fifty-two. Oh no. You are chaffing me; he must be young and beautiful.”
“And his hair is grey,” I cruelly added.
“Grey?”—she sobbed. “Not grey? Oh, you hurt me.”
“You asked questions and I have answered them truthfully,” I replied. She stood silent for a moment, then in rather a subdued tone murmured: