I do hate thinking things about people, and not being able to say the things you're thinking because of the way they would feel when they thought what things you were thinking, and wondered what they'd done to make you think things like that, and why you were thinking them.' Anthea was so anxious that the Phoenix should not understand what she said that she made a speech completely baffling to all.

It was not till she pointed to the cupboard in which all believed the Phoenix to be that Cyril understood.
'Yes,' he said, while Jane and Robert were trying to tell each other how deeply they didn't understand what Anthea were saying; 'but after recent eventfulnesses a new leaf has to be turned over, and, after all, mother is more important than the feelings of any of the lower forms of creation, however unnatural.' 'How beautifully you do do it,' said Anthea, absently beginning to build a card-house for the Lamb--'mixing up what you're saying, I mean.

We ought to practise doing it so as to be ready for mysterious occasions.
We're talking about THAT,' she said to Jane and Robert, frowning, and nodding towards the cupboard where the Phoenix was.

Then Robert and Jane understood, and each opened its mouth to speak.
'Wait a minute,' said Anthea quickly; 'the game is to twist up what you want to say so that no one can understand what you're saying except the people you want to understand it, and sometimes not them.' 'The ancient philosophers,' said a golden voice, 'Well understood the art of which you speak.' Of course it was the Phoenix, who had not been in the cupboard at all, but had been cocking a golden eye at them from the cornice during the whole conversation.
'Pretty dickie!' remarked the Lamb.

'CANARY dickie!' 'Poor misguided infant,' said the Phoenix.
There was a painful pause; the four could not but think it likely that the Phoenix had understood their very veiled allusions, accompanied as they had been by gestures indicating the cupboard.