The drink was delicious--very cold, and tasting like lemonade and partly like penny ices.
'Leave us,' said the Queen.

And all the Court ladies, in their beautiful, many-folded, many-coloured, fringed dresses, filed out slowly, and the children were left alone with the Queen.
'Now,' she said, 'tell me all about yourselves.' They looked at each other.
'You, Bobs,' said Cyril.
'No--Anthea,' said Robert.
'No--you--Cyril,' said Anthea.

'Don't you remember how pleased the Queen of India was when you told her all about us ?' Cyril muttered that it was all very well, and so it was.

For when he had told the tale of the Phoenix and the Carpet to the Ranee, it had been only the truth--and all the truth that he had to tell.

But now it was not easy to tell a convincing story without mentioning the Amulet--which, of course, it wouldn't have done to mention--and without owning that they were really living in London, about 2,500 years later than the time they were talking in.
Cyril took refuge in the tale of the Psammead and its wonderful power of making wishes come true.