The children had tasted cider-cup and champagne-cup at parties, and had disliked both, but oblivion-cup was delicious. It was served in a goblet of opal color, in dreamy pink and pearl—and green and blue and gray—and the sides of the goblet were engraved with pictures of beautiful people asleep. The goblet passed from hand to hand, and when each had drunk enough the Lord High Cupbearer, a very handsome, reserved-looking fish, laid a restraining touch on the goblet and, taking it between his fins, handed it to the next drinker. So, one by one, each took the draught. Kathleen was the last. The draught had no effect on four out of the five—but Kathleen changed before their eyes, and though they had known that the draught of oblivion would make her forget, it was terrible to see it do its fell work. Mavis had her arm protectingly around Kathleen, and the moment the draught had been swallowed Kathleen threw off that loving arm and drew herself away. It hurt like a knife. Then she looked at her brothers and sisters, and it is a very terrible thing when the eyes you love look at you as though you were a stranger. Now, it had been agreed, while still the captives were in the net, that all of them should pretend that the cup of oblivion had taken effect, that they should just keep still and say nothing and look as stupid as they could. But this coldness of her dear Cathay’s was more than Mavis could bear, and no one had counted on it. So when Cathay looked at Mavis as at a stranger whom she rather disliked, and drew away from her arm, Mavis could not bear it, and cried out in heart-piercing tones, “Oh, Cathay, darling, what is it? What’s the matter?” before the Princess or the boys could stop her. And to make matters worse, both boys said in a very loud, plain whisper, “Shut up, Mavis,” and only the Princess kept enough presence of mind to go on saying nothing. Cathay turned and looked at her sister. “Cathay, darling,” Mavis said again, and stopped, for no one could go on saying “darling” to anyone who looked at you as Cathay was looking. She turned her eyes away as Cathay looked toward the Queen—looked, and went, to lean against the royal knee as though it had been her mother’s. “Dear little thing,” said the Queen; “see, it’s quite tame. I shall keep it for a pet. Nice little pet then!” “You shan’t keep her,” cried Mavis, but again the Princess hushed her, and the Queen treated her cry with contemptuous indifference. Cathay snuggled against her new mistress. “As for the rest of you,” said the Queen, “it is evident from your manner that the draught of oblivion has not yet taken effect on you. So it is impossible for me to make presents of you to those prominent members of the nobility, who are wanting pets, as I should otherwise have done. We will try another draught tomorrow. In the meantime ... the fetters, Jailer.”