mind your having red hair, and a red face, and red ears, and red hands, should I?'
'Not a bit,' said the archer cheerfully.
She stood there, twisting the magic jewel round and round on her Royal finger.
'I suppose it's more important than anything else to love someone?' she said.
'Much,' said he.
'Well, then,' said she, 'but are you the sort of person I ought to love?'
'No,' said he, 'I'm not half good enough for you. But then nobody is.'
'That's nice of you, anyhow,' she said. 'I'll do it. I wish I loved you!'
There was a silence. Then Pandora said:
'Nothing's happened. I don't love you. I feel just the same as usual. Your hair, and hands, and face, and ears are redder than ever. You'll excuse my candour, won't you?'
'Then there's nothing for it but for me to wish not to love you,' said Muscadel, 'for I really can't bear loving you to this desperate degree when you don't care a snap of your Royal fingers for me. Lend me the jewel a moment. You shall have it back. If you don't care for me, I don't want to care for anything. I'll live and die a red-faced,
