Unless the Queen was counting him in. There didn't seem any good reason why not.
"Oh, no," Her Majesty said with a little trill of laughter, "not you,
Sir Kenneth. I meant Mr. Miles."
Sir Thomas Boyd asked: "Mr. Miles?"
"That's right," Her Majesty said. "His name is Barry Miles, and your
FBI men found him an hour ago in New Orleans. They're bringing him to
Yucca Flats to meet the rest of us; isn't that nice?"
Lady Barbara cleared her throat.
"It really isn't necessary for you to try to get my attention, dear," the Queen said. "After all, I do know what you're thinking."
Lady Barbara blinked. "I still want to suggest, respectfully, about that nap—" she began.
"My dear girl," the Queen said, with the faintest trace of impatience, "I do not feel the least bit tired, and this is such an exciting day that I just don't want to miss any of it. Besides, I've already told you I don't want a nap. It isn't polite to be insistent to your Queen—no matter how strongly you feel about a matter. I'm sure you'll learn to understand that, dear."
Lady Barbara opened her mouth, shut it again, and opened it once more.
"My goodness," she said.
"That's the idea," Her Majesty said approvingly. "Think before you speak—and then don't speak. It really isn't necessary, since I know what you're thinking."