"You will have nothing of the kind."
I rose and walked to the window in some dudgeon. After considerable focussing, I managed to locate the environs of my collar in a dusty pane. While the work of reconstruction was proceeding:
"Once upon a time," said I, "there was a queen. She was very beautiful from the crown of her little head, which the dark hair kept always, to the soles of her shining feet. And people loved to look at her and hear the music of her laughing. Only, it was no good going on Thursday, because that was early-closing day in her realm, and she and The Mint and The Dogs' Cemetery, and all the other places of interest were closed. You weren't allowed to see the crown jewels, which she wore in her eyes..."
Outside a taxi slowed down and stopped. Cautiously I peered out of the window. George.
I turned to the girl. "Here he is," I said.
As I spoke, an idea came to me. Hurriedly I glanced round the studio. Then:
"Quick," I said, pointing to a little recess, which was curtained off. "You go in there. We'll punish him."
A smile, and she whipped behind the curtain.
"Are you all right?" I whispered.
"Yes."