George, while incommunicable
marvels revealed themselves linked with incommunicable beauty, sat
in the prince's motor, his eyes searching the horizon for that
fleeing speck of silver and pink. It did not appear again. And when
the train of the prince rolled into the yard of the Palace of the
Litany it trembled upon St. George's lips to ask whether the
formalities of the court would permit him that day to scale the
skies and call upon the royal household.
"For whatever he says, I've got to do," thought St. George, "but no
matter what he says, I shall go. Doesn't Amory realize that we've
been more than twelve hours on this island, and that nothing has
been done?"
And then as they crossed the grassy court in the delicate hush of
the merging light--the nameless radiance already penetrating the
dusk--the prince spoke smoothly, as if his words bore no import
deeper than his smile:
"You are come," he said courteously, "in time for one of the
ceremonies of our regime most important--to me. You will, I hope, do
honour to the occasion by your presence.
Pages:
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223