'
'My name's Curdie, little princess.'
'What a funny name! Curdie! What more?'
'Curdie Peterson. What's your name, please?'
'Irene.'
'What more?'
'I don't know what more. What more is my name, Lootie?'
'Princesses haven't got more than one name. They don't want it.'
'Oh, then, Curdie, you must call me just Irene and no more.'
'No, indeed,' said the nurse indignantly. 'He shall do no such
thing.'
'What shall he call me, then, Lootie?'
'Your Royal Highness.'
'My Royal Highness! What's that? No, no, Lootie. I won't be
called names. I don't like them. You told me once yourself it's
only rude children that call names; and I'm sure Curdie wouldn't be
rude. Curdie, my name's Irene.'
'Well, Irene,' said Curdie, with a glance at the nurse which showed
he enjoyed teasing her; 'it is very kind of you to let me call you
anything. I like your name very much.'
He expected the nurse to interfere again; but he soon saw that she
was too frightened to speak. She was staring at something a few
yards before them in the middle of the path, where it narrowed
between rocks so that only one could pass at a time.
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