“I am very thoughtless,” said Crimthann humbly.
The king kissed him on both cheeks.
“Indeed, my dear heart and my son, we are not scolding you, but you must try not to look so terribly thoughtful when you think. It is part of the art of a ruler.”
“I shall never master that hard art,” lamented his fosterling.
“We must all master it,” Dermod replied. “We may think with our minds and with our tongues, but we should never think with our noses and with our eyebrows.”
The woman in the chariot had drawn nigh to the ford by which they were standing, and, without pause, she swung her steeds into the shallows and came across the river in a tumult of foam and spray.
“Does she not drive well?” cried Crimthann admiringly.
“When you are older,” the king counselled him, “you will admire that which is truly admirable, for although the driving is good the lady is better.”
He continued with enthusiasm.
“She is in truth a wonder of the world and an endless delight to the eye.”