After that, all knowledge--all languages, for instance--everything--belongs to us." St.George looked away to the rugged sides of Mount Khalak, lying in its clouds of iris morning mist, unreal as a mountain of Ultima Thule.

It was all right--what he had just been hearing was a part of this ultimate and fantastic place to which he had come.

And yet _he_ was real enough, and so, according to certain approved dialectic, perhaps these things were realities, too.

He stole a glance at the prince's profile.

Here was actually a man who was telling him that he need not have faced Latin and Greek and calculus; that they might have been his of his own accord if only he had understood how to call them in! "That would make a very jolly thing of college," he pensively conceded.