“Wonderful—wonderful!” he said at last. “One’s heard of thought-transference, but I never thought _I_ had any power of that sort. Yet it must be that, and very bad for _you_, I should think. Doesn’t your head ache very much?” He suddenly put a cold, thin hand on her forehead. “No thank you, not at all,” said she. “I assure you it is not done intentionally,” he went on. “Of course I know a good deal about Babylon, and I unconsciously communicate it to you; you’ve heard of thought-reading, but some of the things you say, I don’t understand; they never enter my head, and yet they’re so astoundingly probable.” “It’s all right,” said Anthea reassuringly. “_I_ understand. And don’t worry. It’s all quite simple really.” It was not quite so simple when Anthea, having heard the others come in, went down, and before she had had time to ask how they had liked the Zoo, heard a noise outside, compared to which the wild beasts’ noises were gentle as singing birds. “Good gracious!” cried Anthea, “what’s that?” The loud hum of many voices came through the open window. Words could be distinguished. “’Ere’s a guy!” “This ain’t November. That ain’t no guy. It’s a ballet lady, that’s what it is.” “Not it—it’s a bloomin’ looney, I tell you.” Then came a clear voice that they knew. “Retire, slaves!” it said. “What’s she a saying of?” cried a dozen voices. “Some blamed foreign lingo,” one voice replied. The children rushed to the door. A crowd was on the road and pavement. In the middle of the crowd, plainly to be seen from the top of the steps, were the beautiful face and bright veil of the Babylonian Queen. “Jimminy!” cried Robert, and ran down the steps, “here she is!” “Here!” he cried, “look out—let the lady pass. She’s a friend of ours, coming to see us.” “Nice friend for a respectable house,” snorted a fat woman with marrows on a handcart. All the same the crowd made way a little. The Queen met Robert on the pavement, and Cyril joined them, the Psammead bag still on his arm. “Here,” he whispered; “here’s the Psammead; you can get wishes.” “_I_ wish you’d come in a different dress, if you _had_ to come,” said Robert; “but it’s no use my wishing anything.” “No,” said the Queen. “I wish I was dressed—no, I don’t—I wish _they_ were dressed properly, then they wouldn’t be so silly.” The Psammead blew itself out till the bag was a very tight fit for it; and suddenly every man, woman, and child in that crowd felt that it had not enough clothes on. For, of course, the Queen’s idea of proper dress was the dress that had been proper for the working-classes 3,000 years ago in Babylon—and there was not much of it. “Lawky me!” said the marrow-selling woman, “whatever could a-took me to come out this figure?” and she wheeled her cart away very quickly indeed. “Someone’s made a pretty guy of you—talk of guys,” said a man who sold bootlaces. “Well, don’t you talk,” said the man next to him. “Look at your own silly legs; and where’s your boots?”