“You see this gentleman here?” said Frankl to Margaret.
“Yes”, she whispered: “oh my!”
“Well, it so happens that very likely you are going to live in the same house as him—a big Palace with all gold and silver, where the King with his crown lives, and all. So while you are there, I want you to be his friend as if it was myself, and do everything he tells you, same as myself, in fact. Do you see?”
“Yes”, she whispered, her large form towering above Frankl's, yet awe of him widening her eyes.
“What's your name?” said he.
“My name is Rachel Oppenheimer”, said she.
“All right: come up and dress”.
She followed him up to a back room, where was a lamp, a glass, etc., and on an old settee evening-dress complete, shoes, roses, head-wrap.
“Now”, said Frankl, leaving her, he, too, in evening-dress, “I give you ten minutes to rig yourself out in that lot: a second more, and you catch it”.
And in fifteen minutes they two were in a cab, en route for the Guildhall, Frankl, who had invitations for himself and daughter, saying: “You understand? you keep your eye fixed upon me the whole time—never mind about eating—and when I hold up my finger so, you rise and give them a little song....”