But Amory said no such thing. Instead, he
looked at St. George in distinct hesitation.
"I say," he brought out finally, "St. George, by Jove, do you know,
it seems to me I've seen Miss Frothingham before. And how jolly
beautiful she is," he added almost reverently.
"Maybe it was when you were a Phoenician galley slave and she went
by in a trireme," offered St. George, trying to keep in sight the
bright hair and the floating veil beyond the press of the crowd.
Would he see Olivia and would he be able to speak with her, and did
she know he was there, and would she be angry? Ah well, she could
not possibly be angry, he thought; but with all this in his mind it
was hardly reasonable of Amory to expect him to speculate on where
Miss Frothingham might have been seen before. If it weren't for this
Balator now, St. George said to himself restlessly, and suddenly
observed that Balator was expecting them to follow him. So, in the
slow-moving throng, all soft hues and soft laughter, they made their
way toward the colonnade that cut off the banquet room.
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