The long procession of guests coming up to hand her their gifts, and her fun next day when looking them over--knowing how queer some of them would be--had been part of her joyful anticipation, but Felix would not yield.
"You see, Masie, darling," he coaxed, "now that you are going to be a real princess," he was smoothing back her curls as he spoke, "you are going to be so high up in the world that nobody will dare to give you any presents.

That is the way with all princesses.

Kings and queens are never given presents on their birthdays unless their permission is asked, but, just because they ARE kings and queens, they give presents to everybody else.

And then again, Masie, dear, if you stop to think about it, people really get a great deal more fun out of giving things than they do of having things given to them." She succumbed, as she always did, when her "Uncle Felix," with his voice lowered to a whisper, his lips held close to her ear, either counselled or chided her, and a new joy thrilled through her as he explained how his plan was to be carried out.
Kling lifted up his hands in protest when he heard of O'Day's innovation, but was overruled and bowled over before he had framed his first sentence.

It was the sentiment, Felix insisted, which was to be considered, the good feeling behind the gift, not the cost of it.