“That’s rather a nasty trick,” whispered Robert, who had been carefully taught never to drink out of one of the nice, shiny, metal cups that are chained to the London drinking fountains without first rinsing it out thoroughly.
The Queen overheard him.
“Not at all,” said she. “Ritti-Marduk is a very clean man. And one has to have someone as taster, you know, because of poison.”
The word made the children feel rather creepy; but Ritti-Marduk had tasted all the cups, so they felt pretty safe. The drink was delicious—very cold, and tasting like lemonade and partly like penny ices.
“Leave us,” said the Queen. And all the Court ladies, in their beautiful, many-folded, many-coloured, fringed dresses, filed out slowly, and the children were left alone with the Queen.
“Now,” she said, “tell me all about yourselves.”
They looked at each other.
“You, Bobs,” said Cyril.
“No—Anthea,” said Robert.
“No—you—Cyril,” said Anthea. “Don’t you remember how pleased the Queen of India was when you told her all about us?”