Although," added St. George to himself, "there are things that one
finds out in New York. In a drawing-room, at the Boris, for
instance, over muffins and tea."
"It will be delightful to take all this back to New York," Olivia
vaguely added, as if she meant the fairy palace and the fairy sea.
"It will," agreed St. George fervently, and he couldn't possibly
have told whether he meant the mystery of the island or the mystery
of that hour there with her. There was so little difference.
"Suppose," said Olivia whimsically, "that we open our eyes in a
minute, and find that we are in the prince's room in McDougle
Street, and that he has passed his hand before our faces and made us
dream all this. And father is safe after all."
"But it isn't all a dream," St. George said softly, "it can't
possibly all be a dream, you know."
She met his eyes for a moment.
"Not your coming away here," she said, "if the rest is true I
wouldn't want that to be a dream. You don't know what courage this
will give us all.
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