CHAPTER VII

A LONDON WELCOME—A KINGLY JUGGLEE—AMANULLAH
SEES ENGLAND—AN OMKN FJIOM KABUL—FINANCE AND
HONOUBS

f UT Amanullah, if he were not every inch a King,
I was a romantic enough figure* His grey-green
cloak hung bravely from his broad shoulders.
His shako well suited the dashing carelessness of his
uniform. He observed the Afghan prejudice against
personal jewellery, which, on the Indian Princes, he
had despised, but his breast sparkled with medals and
decorations.

His legs were cased in pale blue, and his tunic was
scarlet. A sword trailed the ground* His hands were
gloved in white.

Souriya, in a Paris frock and hat, never flinched in
the glare of the flashlights* She need not have been
troubled about her appearance. The heavy jewelled
ear-rings, a present from Amanullah the day before,
swung gently to her shoulders to the envy of the
feminine crowds which awaited her arrival in London,

On the platform were the King and Queen, Mr,
Baldwin the Premier, and the Cabinet. The Duke and
the Duchess of York, Prince George, and the Duke of
Connaught were others come to do him honour. Troops
and police held back the crowds.

There was a slight contretemps when the commanding
officers did not recognise the Afghan National Anthem,
and failed to bring their troops to the salute, but such
details were forgotten in the tide of spontaneous cheering

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