The pursued motor, like a
winged thing of the most innocent vagaries, had taken itself off
utterly. And on before, the causeway was utterly empty, dipping idly
between murmurous green. But at the moment St. George had no time to
spend on that wonder.
He carried Olivia to the tonneau of Jarvo's car, jealous when Rollo
lifted her gown's hem from the dust of the road and when Amory threw
open the door. He held her in his arms, half kneeling beside her,
profoundly regardless where it should please the others to dispose
themselves. He had no recollection of hearing Jarvo point the way
through the trees to a path that led away, as far from them as a
voice would carry, to the Ilex Tower whose key burned in Amory's
pocket, promising radiant, intangible things to his imagination. St.
George understood with magnificent unconcern that Amory and Rollo
were gone off there to wait for the return of him and Jarvo; he took
it for granted that Jarvo had grasped that Olivia must be taken
back to her aunt and her friends at the palace; and afterward he
knew only, for an indeterminate space, that the car was moving
across some dim, heavenly foreground to some dim, ultimate
destination in which he found himself believing with infinite faith.
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