Almost before the Lion had finished speaking Carry-on-Merry, with a particularly wicked laugh, danced to the centre of the bright ball-room and said he thought that perhaps the Griffin might be persuaded to sing.
"I thought so," groaned the Lion.
The Griffin gurgled with pleasure, and immediately started to look coy, and playfully tap the golden carpet spread upon the ground with his forepaws, as if he had suddenly discovered some new beauty in the pattern of the luxurious floor covering.
"Really," said the Griffin, "I do not think I could. Oh! really no."
"Showing off," grunted the Lion; "he'll sing in the end, safe enough.
Worse luck!"
"With all these beautiful singers here," smirked the Griffin, "to ask me. Oh!—really!"
"Oh, please sing," everybody murmured politely.
"Oh—oh!—really," simpered the Griffin, trying in vain to blush. "You see, I am not perhaps in my usual form."
"What on earth will it be like, then?" ventured the Lion.
"I am sure you will honour and delight the company," laughed
Carry-on-Merry, with his wickedest laugh.