For this was no trick of the
imagination, his galloping heart told him that. And whether or not
Yaque was a place, the world, the world was within his grasp,
instinct with possibilities heavenly sweet. His eyes met Amory's in
the minute when Cassyrus, prime minister of Yaque, had it borne in
upon him that this was no runaway machine, but the ordinary and
preferred pace of the daughter of their king; and while Cassyrus, at
the enormity of the conception, breathed out expostulations in
several languages--some of them known to us only by means of
inscriptions on tombs--Amory spoke to St. George:
"Who was the other girl?" he asked comprehensively.
"What other girl?" St. George blankly murmured.
And at this, Amory turned away with a look that could be made to
mean whatever Amory meant.
On went the imperial train faring back to Med over the road lately
stirred to shining dust by the wheels of Olivia's auto. Olivia's
auto. St. George was secretly saying over the words with a kind of
ecstatic non-comprehension, when the prince spoke:
"That," he said, "may explain why an American has been able to
govern us.
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