“Well,” whispered Robert, “the charm can bring them to us at any moment. It said so.”
“Oh, yes,” whispered Cyril, in miserable derision, “we’re all right, of course. So we are! Oh, yes! If we’d only got the charm.”
Then Robert saw, and he murmured, “Crikey!” at the foot of the throne of Babylon; while Cyril hoarsely whispered the plain English fact—
“Jane’s got the charm round her neck, you silly cuckoo.”
“Crikey!” Robert repeated in heart-broken undertones.
CHAPTER VII.
“THE DEEPEST DUNGEON BELOW THE CASTLE MOAT”
The Queen threw three of the red and gold embroidered cushions off the throne on to the marble steps that led up to it.
“Just make yourselves comfortable there,” she said. “I’m simply dying to talk to you, and to hear all about your wonderful country and how you got here, and everything, but I have to do justice every morning. Such a bore, isn’t it? Do you do justice in your own country?”
“No,” said Cyril; “at least of course we try to, but not in this public sort of way, only in private.”
“Ah, yes,” said the Queen, “I should much prefer a private audience myself—much easier to manage. But public opinion has to be considered. Doing justice is very hard work, even when you’re brought up to it.”