It was not that her astonishment was decreasing; but why--modernity
and the democracy spoke within her--waste the possibilities of a
situation merely because it chances to be astonishing? Moments of
mystery are rare enough, in all conscience; and when they do arrive
all the world misses them by trying to understand them. Which is
manifestly ungrateful and stupid. They do these things better in
Yaque.
"You maybe," agreed Amory evenly, "though I don't know that I ever
met a desert island princess in a dinner frock. But then, I am a
beginner in desert islands."
"Are you an American?" inquired Antoinette earnestly.
Amory looked up at the frowning facade of the king's palace, and he
could have found it in his heart to believe his own answer.
"I'm the ghost," he confessed, "of a poor beggar of a Phoenician who
used to make water-jars in Sidon. I have been condemned to plow the
high seas and explore the tall mountains until I find the Pitiful
Princess. She must be up at the very peak, in distress, and I--"
Amory stopped and looked desperately about him.
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