There was no help for it.
"Once upon a time," I said rapidly, "there was a man called Bingle, Oliver Bingle, and he married a lady called Pringle. And his brother married a lady called Jingle; and his other brother married a Miss Wingle. And his cousin remained single.... That is all."
"Oh, I see," said Margery doubtfully. "Now will you play wiv me?"
How can one resist the pleading of a young child?
"All right," I said. "We'll pretend I'm a little girl, and you're my mummy, and you've just put me to bed.... Good night, mummy dear."
"Oh, but I must cover you up." She fetched a table-cloth, and a pram-cover, and The Times, and a handkerchief, and the cat, and a doll's what-I-mustn't-say-downstairs, and a cushion; and she covered me up and tucked me in. "'Ere, 'ere, now go to sleep, my darling," she said, and kissed me lovingly.
"Oh, Margie, you dear," I whispered.
"You called me 'Margie'!" she cried in horror.
"I meant 'Mummy.' Good night."
One, two, three seconds passed rapidly.