That was magnificent."
"You _were_ there!" cried Olivia, "I thought--"
"That you saw me?" St. George pressed eagerly.
"I think that I thought so," she admitted.
"But you never looked at me," said St. George dolefully, "and I had
on a forty-two gored dress, or something."
"Ah," Olivia confessed, "but I had thought so before when I knew it
couldn't be you."
St. George's heart gave a great bound.
"When before?" he wanted to know ecstatically.
"Ah, before," she explained, "and then afterward, too."
"When afterward?" he urged.
(Smile if you like, but this is the way the happy talk goes in Yaque
as you remember very well, if you are honest.)
"Yesterday, when I was motoring, I thought--"
"I was. You did," St. George assured her. "I was in the prince's
motor. The procession was temporarily tied up, you remember. Did you
really think it was I?"
But this the lady passed serenely over.
"Last night," she said, "when that terrible thing happened, who was
it in the other motor? Who was it, there in the road when I--was it
you? Was it?" she demanded.
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