And of course you
never can tell--"
At this St. George turned toward her, and his eyes compelled hers.
"Ah, yes, you can," he told her, "yes, you can."
Then he folded his arms and leaned against the stone prisms again,
looking down at her. Evidently the magician, whoever he was, did not
mind his saying that, for the palace did not crumble or the moon
cease from shining on the white walls.
"Still," she answered, looking toward the sea, "queer things _are_
true in Yaque. It is queer that you are here. Say that it is."
"Heaven knows that it is," assented St. George obediently.
Presently, realizing that the terrace did not intend to turn into a
cloud out-of-hand, they set themselves to talk seriously, and St.
George had not known her so adorable, he was once more certain, as
when she tried to thank him for his pursuit the night before. He had
omitted to mention that he had brought her back alone to the Palace
of the Litany, for that was too exquisite a thing, he decided, to be
spoiled by leaving out the most exquisite part.
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