Would St. George
never come? How was he, Amory, to be accountable for what he told if
he were left here alone in these extraordinary circumstances?
Then Antoinette lightly clapped her hands.
"A ghost!" she exclaimed with pleasure. "Miss Holland hoped the
place was haunted. A Phoenician ghost with an Alabama accent."
She had said "Miss Holland hoped."
"Aren't you--aren't you Miss Holland?" demanded Amory promptly, a
joyful note of uncertainty in his voice.
Antoinette shook her head.
"No," she said, "though I don't know why I should tell you that."
From Amory's soul rolled a burden that left him treading air on
Mount Khalak. She was not Miss Holland. What did he care how long
St. George stayed away?
"I am Tobias Amory," he said, "of New York. Most people don't know
about the Sidonian ghost part. But I've told you because I thought,
perhaps, you might be the Pitiful Princess."
Antoinette's heart was beating pleasantly. Of New York! How--oh, how
did he get here? Was there, then, a wishing-stone in that window
embrasure where she had been sitting, and had the knight come
because she had willed it? How much did he know? How much ought she
to tell? Nothing whatever, prudently decided the lawyer's daughter.
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