have to look for it there!'

The learned gentleman rubbed his hair with both hands and looked
anxiously at Anthea.

'I suppose it's natural--youthful imagination and so forth,' he
said. 'Yet someone must have ... Who told you that some part of
the charm was missing?'

'I can't tell you,' she said. 'I know it seems most awfully
rude, especially after being so kind about telling us the name of
power, and all that, but really, I'm not allowed to tell anybody
anything about the--the--the person who told me. You won't
forget your breakfast, will you?'

The learned gentleman smiled feebly and then frowned--not a
cross-frown, but a puzzle-frown.

'Thank you,' he said, 'I shall always be pleased if you'll look
in--any time you're passing you know--at least ...'

'I will,' she said; 'goodbye. I'll always tell you anything I
MAY tell.'

He had not had many adventures with children in them, and he
wondered whether all children were like these. He spent quite
five minutes in wondering before he settled down to the
fifty-second chapter of his great book on 'The Secret Rites of
the Priests of Amen Ra'.