“Because I hope we are going to be great friends.”
“What a funny reason.”
John stayed with them for an hour and all the time watched her fascinated.
“Have you got a crown?” he asked.
“How did you learn to speak English?
What is that big ring made of?
Did it cost much?
Why are your nails that colour?
Can you ride?”
She answered all his questions, sometimes enigmatically with an eye on Tony.
She took out a little heavily scented handkerchief and showed John the monogram.
“That is my only crown … now,” she said.
She told him about the horses she used to have — glossy black, with arched necks; foam round their silver bits; plumes tossing on their foreheads; silver studs on the harness, crimson saddle cloths,
“On the Moulay's birthday — “
“What's the Moulay?”
“A beautiful and a very bad man,” she said gravely, “and on his birthday all his horsemen used to assemble round a great square, with all their finest clothes and trappings and jewels, with long swords in their hands.
The Moulay used to sit on a throne under a great crimson canopy.”
“What's a canopy?”
“Like a tent,” she said more sharply, and then resuming her soft voice, “and all the horsemen used to gallop across the plain, in a great cloud of dust, waving their swords, straight towards the Moulay.
And everyone used to hold their breath, thinking the horsemen were bound to ride right on top of the Moulay, but when they were a few feet away, as near as I am to you, galloping at full speed, they used to rein their horses back, up on to their hind legs and salute — “
“Oh but they shouldn't,” said John.
“It's very bad horsemanship indeed. Ben says so.”
“They're the most wonderful horsemen in the world.
Everyone knows that.”
“Oh no, they can't be, if they do that.
It's one of the worst things.
Were they natives?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Ben says natives aren't humans at all really.”
“Ah but he's thinking of Negroes I expect.
These are pure Semitic type.”
“What's that?”
“The same as Jews.”
“Ben says Jews are worse than natives.”
“Oh dear, what a very severe boy you are.
I was like that once.
Life teaches one to be tolerant.”
“It hasn't taught Ben,” said John.
“When's mummy coming?
I thought she'd be here, otherwise I wouldn't have stopped painting my picture.”
But when nanny came to fetch him, John, without invitation, went over and kissed Jenny goodnight.
“Goodnight, Johnny-boy,” she said.
“What did you call me?”
“Johnny-boy.”
“You are funny with names.”
Upstairs, meditatively splashing his spoon in the bread and milk, he said,
“Nanny, I do think that Princess is beautiful, don't you?”
Nanny sniffed.
“It would be a dull world if we all thought alike,” she said.
“She's more beautiful than Miss Tendril, even.