He took her hand as he spoke and raised it perfunctorily to his lips, but his eyes were still on her face. He had never imagined that anything, other than a piece of Dresden china, could be so pink, white and gold.
Anastasia’s eyes were the blue of the wild forget-me-nots that grew on the alpine plateaux and her lips were smiling as, instead of replying to his formal speech of greeting, she, stammered in embarrassment,
“Forgive me for what I – said just – now, and please do not – tell Mama.”
“She would not approve?” the King asked in amusement.
“She would be very angry. I had a formal speech prepared which I had learnt very carefully – but the awful thing is – I have – forgotten it!”
“I will not give you away,” the King said good-humouredly.
“Please don’t,” Anastasia pleaded, “you ha
