He looked back at Amory, and Amory was leaning on the
parapet, apparently sunk in reflections which concerned nobody. So
St. George stepped softly on until he reached the first archway, and
there he stopped, and the moment was to him almost past belief.
Within the open doorway, so near that if she had lifted her eyes
they must have met his own, was the woman whom he had come across
the sea to seek.
St. George hardly knew that he spoke, for it was as if all the world
were singing her name.
"Olivia!" he said.
CHAPTER XIV
THE ISLE OF HEARTS
The room in which St. George was looking was long and lofty and hung
with pale tapestries. White pillars supporting the domed white
ceiling were wound with garlands. The smoke from a little brazen
tripod ascended pleasantly, and about the windows stirred in the
faint wind draperies of exceeding thinness, woven in looms stilled
centuries ago.
Olivia was crossing before the windows. She wore a white gown strewn
with roses, and she seemed as much at home on this alien
mountain-top as she had been in her aunt's drawing-room at the
Boris.
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