"
St. George pulled himself up sharply. He glanced over his shoulder
and saw Amory polishing his pince-nez and looking quite as if he
were leaning over hansom-doors in the park, and he turned quickly to
the prince, half convinced that he had been mocked.
"Suppose, your Highness," he said, "that I were to print what you
have just told me on the front page of a New York morning paper,
for people to glance over with their coffee? Do you think that even
the most open-minded among them would believe that there is such a
place as Yaque?"
The prince smiled curiously, and his long-fringed lids drooped in
momentary contemplation. The auto turned into that majestic avenue
which terminates in the Eurychorus before the Palace of the Litany.
St. George's eye eagerly swept the long white way. At its far end
stood Mount Khalak. _She_ must have passed over this very ground.
"There is," the prince's smooth voice broke in upon his dream, "no
such place as Yaque--as you understand 'place.'"
"I beg your pardon, your Highness?" St.
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