“Are you sure,” ventured Miss Voile, “that you aren’t confusing ordinary politeness with love?”
“Positive,” said Toby. “You’re proving me, you are. Shove your little face down on the broom, sweetheart, and I’ll tell you a fairy-tale.”
A silence, succeeded by a rustling, suggested that Cicely had capitulated.
“Go on,” she said presently.
“There was once,” said Toby, “a King: and he had a daughter who was as lovely as the dawn. That’s why they called her Sunset. She attracted like anything—especially the Master of the Horse. Well, one day, just as the King was about to sack the Master of the Horse for being attracted, a voice said, ‘You’d better not.’
“ ‘Who’s that?’ said the King, looking all round the room.
“ ‘I rather think,’ said the Master of the Horse, ‘that it’s my uncle. He said that if ever I was in trouble I was to rub this ring, and I’ve just rubbed it.’
“ ‘Oh, did he?’ said the King. ‘I mean, have you? Then it was a piece of great presumption. And now push off.’
“ ‘Very good, sir,’ said the Master of the Horse. ‘Good-bye.’
“ ‘Good-bye,’ said the King.