“People must believe what they can, and those who believe more must not be hard upon those who believe less. I doubt if you would have believed it all yourself if you hadn’t seen some of it.”
“Ah! yes, grandmother, I dare say. I’m sure you are right. But he’ll believe now.”
“I don’t know that,” replied her grandmother.
“Won’t you, Curdie?” said Irene, looking round at him as she asked the question. He was standing in the middle of the floor, staring, and looking strangely bewildered. This she thought came of his astonishment at the beauty of the lady.
“Make a bow to my grandmother, Curdie,” she said.
“I don’t see any grandmother,” answered Curdie rather gruffly.
“Don’t see my grandmother, when I’m sitting in her lap?” exclaimed the princess.
“No, I don’t,” reiterated Curdie, in an offended tone.
“Don’t you see the lovely fire of roses—white ones amongst them this time?” asked Irene, almost as bewildered as he.
“No, I don’t,” answered Curdie, almost sulkily.
“Nor the blue bed? Nor the rose-coloured counterpane?—Nor the beautiful light, like the moon, hanging from the roof?”
“You’re making game of me, Your Royal Highness; and after what we have come through together this day, I don’t think it is kind of you,” said Curdie, feeling very much hurt.
“Then what do you see?” asked Irene, who perceived at once that for her not to believe him was at least as bad as for him not to believe her.