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The
Lonely
Princess
A very modern fairy-tale,
with a motion picture
star for the heroine.
By FRANCES DENTON
ONCE upon a time there was a fairy princess. She was a regulation princess with golden hair that didn't come out of a bottle, blue eyes, and a sunkist disposition. She was only nineteen or thereabouts; she was a very human princess — she even had freckles and a sense of humor. She would, in fact, be too conventional to write about, except that —
She was lonely. She had a big white palace, maids, and butlers at the door. She had a lovely blue car with her monogram on the door, in gold-embossed letters. She had pretty dresses, and a diamond ring. She had other jewels that she would wear when she was grown-up. She had everything she wanted — but she was the loneliest girl in the world.
Her mother looked after her. She scarcely ever went outdoors without her mother; or, at least, her grandmother or her duenna. Her mother always inspected everyone who came to see her, before the princess was permitted to know them. That way, of course, she missed meeting an awful lot of interesting people. She was given beautiful books to read; beautiful books — that is, the covers were pretty. The insides were all about science, or art. or literature. \\Tiile all the time the princess would love to have read some French novel.
Slie ^vould have made a good seliool teacher, too.
Ever since she was a baby, her life had been lived by rules. Certain standards were set; she couldn't do this and she couldn't do that, because she was studying to be a queen and her life was, therefore, not her own. She was to be great — and lonely, and miserable.
But once in a while the gates were let down. Persons with passes and certificates were let in to talk to the princess. Once, one of these persons was even permitted to see her alone; to spend a day — several days — with her alone. When there were no mothers and grandmothers and duennas; not even a maid!
M.\RY ISHLES ]\nXTER had been working hard. She probably works harder than any young girl of her age in the world. She is. perhaps, one of the most envied children in this or any other country. And she is the loneliest.
I saw her one day — one rainy miserable day. It was the middle of the week, and Mar\', Just returned from a tedious location trip, had been working for three nights to catch up on interiors. I had, I was told, arrived at the wrong moment; Mary was busy on the floor, and IMary's mother and grandmother were away. IMary was all alone. So I watched her work a while.
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