George with
admiration.
"Is it possible," he murmured, half to himself, "that your race has
already developed intuition? Are you indeed so near to the Unknown?"
He took quick steps away and back, and turned again to St. George, a
strange joy dawning in his face.
"If there be some who are ready to know!" he said. "Ah," he recalled
himself penitently to Miss Holland, "your father--Otho Holland, I
have seen him many times."
"_Seen Otho_!" shrilled Mrs. Hastings, as pink and trembling and
expressionless as a disturbed mold of jelly. "Oh, poor, dear Otho!
Did he live where there are people like your frightful servant?
Olivia, think! Maybe he is lying at the bottom of a gorge, all
wounded and bloody, with a dagger in his back! Oh, my poor, dear
Otho, who used to wheel me about!"
Mrs. Hastings collapsed softly on the divan, her glasses fallen in
her lap, her side-combs slipping silently to the rug. Olivia had
risen and was standing before Prince Tabnit.
"Tell me," she said trembling, "when have you seen him? Is he well?"
Prince Tabnit swept the faces of the others and his eyes returned to
Miss Holland and dropped to the floor.
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