"I should think we have," interrupted Clare with a glance over at the
sofa. "Goodness me, she's fast asleep!"

"Poor little thing, she is tired to death," cried Polly remorsefully,
while they all rushed over to the heap of lace and spangles, blissfully
oblivious of "prologues."

"Do let her sleep through this piece of stupidity," said Jasper,
bundling up another satin skirt that Mrs. Whitney had loaned for Polly
to make a choice from. "There," putting it under the yellow head, "we'll
call her when the dragons come on."

"Take care," cried Polly, with intercepting hand, "that's Auntie's
lovely satin gown."

"Beg pardon," said Jasper, relinquishing it speedily. "Here's the sofa
pillow, after all," dragging it from its temporary retirement under the
theatrical debris. "Now let's get back to work; time is going fast." In
a lowered voice:

"'We have a princess, to be sure,
A sweet and gracious Clotilde,
And a knight who does her homage,
But the rest of us
Are fishy, scaly,
Horny and altogether horrid,
And of very low degree
Who scarce know why we are upon the boards,
Except for your amusement,
So prithee'"?