I left my medicine in my room, and picked up my red tam-o’-shanter and put it on so that it drooped effectively over on one ear. My flowing robe was of royal red, I tossed one corner of it over my shoulder in a stagey and princely manner, There was n’t a soul in the corridor. I stood myself in front of the door of 320, and knocked in a loud and cheerful tone—though I was shaking in my slippers all the time. There was a small-sized “Come,” and I flung open the door, and scraped the floor with as majestic and sweeping a bow as I could muster,
“I am the prince,” I said.
Would you believe it? She hardly moved, but just looked up and stared at me with that
blank, impersonal gaze of hers, that we all knew so well; and there I stood, like a ninny, with my tam-o’-shanter on one ear and my bath-robe festooned over my shoulder!
“‘I am the Prince’”contrived to melt down upon my neck from above—I was kneeling by her chair.
“Oh, I love you,” she said; “I always have, since the first day. I think you ’re the dearest girl in school, Harry—prince.”
This is the end—abrupt, I know, but that ’s what ends ought to be, Miss Noble says. It is not really the end, because, as I said at first, all this happened last year, and now it ’s the fall of another year. Little X has just suggested, by the way, that I begin to attach myself to my geometry.
That ’s Little X over there in the camp-chair with her feet on the Latin dictionary—looks pretty happy, does n’t she? I tell her that she talks me nearly deaf—that if I were looking around for a princess again, I ’d never take a silent one.
Yes, Little X is my room-mate, and what more would you have?
