And Robert added, “Do shut up, Jane!” Even Anthea, who was almost always kind, advised Jane to try another song. “I’m sick to death of that,” said she. It was a wet day, so none of the plans for seeing all the sights of London that can be seen for nothing could be carried out. Everyone had been thinking all the morning about the wonderful adventures of the day before, when Jane had held up the charm and it had turned into an arch, through which they had walked straight out of the present time and the Regent’s Park into the land of Egypt eight thousand years ago. The memory of yesterday’s happenings was still extremely fresh and frightening, so that everyone hoped that no one would suggest another excursion into the past, for it seemed to all that yesterday’s adventures were quite enough to last for at least a week. Yet each felt a little anxious that the others should not think it was afraid, and presently Cyril, who really was not a coward, began to see that it would not be at all nice if he should have to think himself one. So he said— “I say—about that charm—Jane—come out. We ought to talk about it, anyhow.” “Oh, if that’s all,” said Robert. Jane obediently wriggled to the front of her house and sat there. She felt for the charm, to make sure that it was still round her neck. “It _isn’t_ all,” said Cyril, saying much more than he meant because he thought Robert’s tone had been rude—as indeed it had. “We ought to go and look for that Amulet. What’s the good of having a first-class charm and keeping it idle, just eating its head off in the stable.” “_I’m_ game for anything, of course,” said Robert; but he added, with a fine air of chivalry, “only I don’t think the girls are keen today somehow.” “Oh, yes; I am,” said Anthea hurriedly. “If you think I’m afraid, I’m not.” “I am though,” said Jane heavily; “I didn’t like it, and I won’t go there again—not for anything I won’t.” “We shouldn’t go _there_ again, silly,” said Cyril; “it would be some other place.” “I daresay; a place with lions and tigers in it as likely as not.” Seeing Jane so frightened, made the others feel quite brave. They said they were certain they ought to go. “It’s so ungrateful to the Psammead not to,” Anthea added, a little primly. Jane stood up. She was desperate. “I won’t!” she cried; “I won’t, I won’t, I won’t! If you make me I’ll scream and I’ll scream, and I’ll tell old Nurse, and I’ll get her to burn the charm in the kitchen fire. So now, then!” You can imagine how furious everyone was with Jane for feeling what each of them had felt all the morning. In each breast the same thought arose, “No one can say it’s _our_ fault.” And they at once began to show Jane how angry they all felt that all the fault was hers. This made them feel quite brave. “Tell-tale tit, its tongue shall be split, And all the dogs in our town shall have a little bit,” sang Robert.