We received an invitation for the State ball. My husband chose a gown of blue and silver brocade for me for this important occasion. Just before we left the hotel for the palace the Maharajah said: “Sunity, if the Prince of Wales asks you to dance with him, you must; it would be a very great honour.” “I can’t,” I faltered, “I simply can’t; you know I do not dance.” “Never mind, you cannot refuse your future king.” “Well,” I said, “I don’t think I will go; let me send a letter of apology.” “Impossible! We are bound to attend; it is a command.” I said no more, but prayed and hoped that I might be overlooked by the Prince. Not so, however. Soon after we entered the ballroom a message was sent by H.R.H. asking me to dance with him. I returned the answer that, although I greatly appreciated the honour, I must refuse as I never danced. Then came another message: It was only the Lancers, and H.R.H. would show me the steps.
Again I refused; then, to my great surprise, the late King George of Greece came up to where I was sitting. “Do come and dance, Maharani,” he said, “I assure you there is nothing in it.”
“Please forgive me, your Majesty,” I stammered, “but I cannot dance.” The late King of Denmark, then Crown Prince, also graciously asked me to dance. By this time I was too nervous for words, and I heard a sweet voice say: “Oh, look! hasn’t the Maharani tiny little feet?” I glanced in an agony of shyness at the dais from whence the tones proceeded, quite close to where I was sitting, and saw that the speaker was none other than the Princess of Wales! I did not know what to do, and felt for the moment as if I were all feet. My skirt was rather short, and I could not tuck my shoes out of sight. I was very glad and relieved when suppertime came. I went in with the Royal Family to supper. Every one was most gracious, and the Prince of Wales teased me about my not accepting him as a partner.
“What do you think of the ball?” asked one of the Princesses. “It is a grand sight, Ma’am; I think the jewels are wonderful.” I was introduced to several foreign royalties, and one girl I loved directly I saw her. She was the Grand Duchess Sergius of Russia, with whom I afterwards became very friendly.
On the morning of the Jubilee I was early astir. I wore a pale orange-coloured gown with a sari to match. We left the hotel at a quarter-past nine. As we drove to the Abbey I was struck with the perfect behaviour of the crowd.
It was a hot, dusty drive, and I was glad of the shade of my parasol. Suddenly a shout arose. “Put down that sunshade, please, and let’s have a look at you.”
“Don’t,” whispered the Maharajah, “you’ll get sunstroke.” I hesitated. “Come now, put it down.” I closed my parasol, and as I did so was heartily cheered. “That’s right,” roared the good-humoured crowd, “thank you very much.”
On entering the Abbey we were escorted to our seats.
It was an impressive ceremony, and the Queen looked inspired when she came back from the altar. After the service was over, as Her Majesty walked down the aisle, her eyes met mine, and she smiled. I was the only Maharani present, and I like to remember this signal honour.