As he came toward
them across the terrace St. George saw that he was miraculously not
alone.
Afterward Amory told him what had happened and what had made him
abide in patience and such wondrous self-effacement.
When St. George had left him contemplating the far beauties of the
little blur of light that was Med, Mr. Toby Amory set a match to one
of his jealously expended store of Habanas and added one more aroma
to the spiced air. To be standing on the doorstep of a king's
palace, confidently expecting within the next few hours to assist in
locating the king himself was a situation warranting, Amory thought,
such fragrant celebration, and he waited in comparative content.
The moon had climbed high enough to cast a great octagonal shadow on
the smooth court, and the Habana was two-thirds memory when,
immediately back of Amory, a long window opened outward, releasing
an apparition which converted the remainder of the Habana into a
fiery trail ending out on the terrace. It was a girl of rather more
than twenty, exquisitely petite and pretty, and wearing a ruffley
blue evening gown whose skirt was caught over her arm.
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