A shadow, very black and distinct, fell
on the white marble floor.
"Your shadow's not invisible, anyhow," said Jimmy.
"Oh, bother my shadow!" the voice of the Princess replied. "We
left the key inside the door, and it's shut itself with the wind, and
it's a spring lock!"
There was a heartfelt pause.
Then Gerald said, in his most business-like manner: "Sit down,
Princess, and we'll have a thorough good palaver about it."
"I shouldn't wonder," said Jimmy, "if we was to wake up and find
it was dreams."
"No such luck," said the voice.
"Well," said Gerald, "first of all, what's your name, and if you're
not a Princess, who are you?"
"I'm I'm," said a voice broken with sobs, "I'm the housekeeper's
niece at the castle and my name's Mabel Prowse."
"That's exactly what I thought," said Jimmy, without a shadow of
truth, because how could he? The others were silent. It was a
moment full of agitation and confused ideas.
"Well, anyhow," said Gerald, "you belong here."
"Yes," said the voice, and it came from the floor, as though its
owner had flung herself down in the madness of despair. "Oh yes, I
belong here right enough, but what's the use of belonging
anywhere if you're invisible?"
Those of my readers who have gone about much with an invisible
companion will not need to be told how awkward the whole
business is. For one thing, however much you may have been
convinced that your companion is invisible, you will, I feel sure,
have found yourself every now and then saying, "This must be a
dream!" or "I know I shall wake up in half a sec!" And this was the
case with Gerald, Kathleen, and Jimmy as they sat in the white
marble Temple of Flora, looking out through its arches at the
sunshiny park and listening to the voice of the enchanted Princess,
who really was not a Princess at all, but just the housekeeper's
niece, Mabel Prowse; though, as Jimmy said, "she was enchanted,
right enough.
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