“Oh! don’t leave us,” said Jane. The woman was giving some last instructions in Court etiquette to Anthea, and did not hear Jane.
“Don’t be a little muff,” said the Psammead quite fiercely. “It’s not a bit of good your having a charm. You never use it. If you want me you’ve only got to say the name of power and ask the charm to bring me to you.”
“I’d rather go with you,” said Jane. And it was the most surprising thing she had ever said in her life.
Everyone opened its mouth without thinking of manners, and Anthea, who was peeping into the Psammead’s basket, saw that its mouth opened wider than anybody’s.
“You needn’t gawp like that,” Jane went on. “I’m not going to be bothered with queens any more than IT is. And I know, wherever it is, it’ll take jolly good care that it’s safe.”
“She’s right there,” said everyone, for they had observed that the Psammead had a way of knowing which side its bread was buttered.
She turned to the woman and said, “You’ll take me home with you, won’t you? And let me play with your little girls till the others have done with the Queen.”
“Surely I will, little heart!” said the woman.
And then Anthea hurriedly stroked the Psammead and embraced Jane, who took the woman’s hand, and trotted contentedly away with the Psammead’s bag under the other arm.
The others stood looking after her till she, the woman, and the basket were lost in the many-coloured crowd. Then Anthea turned once more to the palace’s magnificent doorway and said—