Yon long-haired page in crimson clad is more to my liking

‘Yon long-haired page in crimson clad is more to my liking,’ .... ‘Methinks he has a noble mien, as of one brought up in palaces.’

And as she picked up the shuttle to send the thread of a rosy day-dream through the warp of gold, the long-haired page in crimson clad passed down the street outside, and she saw his image in the mirror.

‘How like a prince he bears himself!’ she murmured. ‘... the pleasure of looking out upon the world and weaving sweet fancies about it. Henceforth I shall not obey ..., but shall daily steal away in here, to weave in secret what ... will not allow me to do openly.’

She worked always in secret, peering ever in the mirror, lest perchance the long-haired page in crimson clad should slip by and she not see him. For the sheen of his fair hair dazzled her to all other sights, and his face was all she thought of by day and dreamed of by night, so that she often forgot to ply her needle or finger her lute. He was only a page, but she called him prince in her thoughts until she really believed him one. When she worked at the web she sang to herself, ‘It is for him—for him!’

The years went by, ... faithful to the page alone.

In part IV ...  to fit a page she believed had a royal and princely demeanor; ...

‘... I wove in secret, and when my prince came by, long ago I gave it him. He stands outside at the casement.’

... saw the long-haired page clad in the mantle which she had woven in secret. ... tore it angrily from the youth, and demanded she should give it to the prince, who waited to claim it, but the prince would have none of it. It was of too small a fashion to fit his royal shoulders, and had been defiled by the wearing of a common page. So with one look of disdain he rode away.

Stripped of the robe her own fancy had woven around him, the page stood shorn before her. It was as if a veil had been torn from her eyes, and she no longer saw him as her fond dreams had painted him. She saw him in all his unworthiness; and the cloth of gold which was her maiden-love, and the rosy day-dreams she had woven into it to make the mantle of a high ideal, lay in tattered shreds at her feet. When she looked from the one to the other and saw the mistake she had made and the opportunity she had lost, she covered her face with her hands and cried out ... But all her upbraiding was too late. As it was written in the stars, her heart broke, as broke the shattered mirror of the Lady of Shalott.


CRITICISM
I’m going to come right out and say it: These princes are jerks, and ... are well rid of them.

I mean, the one prince sees that his fiancée has woven a mantle fit for the page she loves, and given it to him, and he responds by giving her a look of disdain? Who does he think he is, anyway? I get that the author of the story is trying to portray ...’s page as unworthy of her, but honestly, he comes off loads better than the prince. I vote she stick with her faithful page rather than rejecting him because she just realized she might have had a trust fund baby.