None other had seemed so real.
'Did you notice-- ?' they said, and 'Do you remember-- ?' When suddenly Anthea's face turned pale under the dirt which it had collected on it during the fire.
'Oh,' she cried, 'mother and father! Oh, how awful! They'll think we're burned to cinders.

Oh, let's go this minute and tell them we aren't.' 'We should only miss them,' said the sensible Cyril.
'Well--YOU go then,' said Anthea, 'or I will.

Only do wash your face first.

Mother will be sure to think you are burnt to a cinder if she sees you as black as that, and she'll faint or be ill or something.

Oh, I wish we'd never got to know that Phoenix.' 'Hush!' said Robert; 'it's no use being rude to the bird.