He shrugged his shoulders. "You are more likely to forget me than I am
to forget you, Sibyl."

She flushed. "What do you mean, Jim?" she asked.

"You have a new friend, I hear. Who is he? Why have you not told me
about him? He means you no good."

"Stop, Jim!" she exclaimed. "You must not say anything against him.
I love him."

"Why, you don't even know his name," answered the lad. "Who is he?
I have a right to know."

"He is called Prince Charming. Don't you like the name.
Oh! you silly boy! you should never forget it. If you only saw him,
you would think him the most wonderful person in the world.
Some day you will meet him--when you come back from Australia.
You will like him so much. Everybody likes him, and I ...
love him. I wish you could come to the theatre to-night. He
is going to be there, and I am to play Juliet. Oh! how I
shall play it! Fancy, Jim, to be in love and play Juliet!
To have him sitting there! To play for his delight!
I am afraid I may frighten the company, frighten or enthrall them.
To be in love is to surpass one's self. Poor dreadful
Mr. Isaacs will be shouting 'genius' to his loafers at the bar.
He has preached me as a dogma; to-night he will announce me
as a revelation. I feel it. And it is all his, his only,
Prince Charming, my wonderful lover, my god of graces.
But I am poor beside him. Poor? What does that matter?