This time his words came to St.George like a thunderbolt: "In three days' time, at noon, in this the Hall of Kings," he cried, letting each phrase fall as if he were its proud inventor, "immediately following the official recognition of Olivia, daughter of Otho I, as Hereditary Princess of Yaque, there will be solemnized, according to the immemorial tradition of the island last observed six hundred and eighty-four years ago by Queen Pentellaria, the marriage of Olivia of Yaque, to his Highness, Prince Tabnit, head of the House of the Litany, and chief administrator of justice.
_For the law prescribes that no unmarried woman shall sit upon the throne of Yaque._ At noon of the third day will be observed the double ceremony of the recognition and the marriage.

May the gods permit the possible." There was a soft insistence of music from above, a stir and breath about the room, the premier backed away to his seat, and St.George, even with the horrified tightening at his heart, was conscious of a vague commotion from the vicinity of Mrs.Medora Hastings.

Then he saw the prince rise and turn to Olivia, and extend his hand to conduct her from the hall.

The great banquet room beyond the colonnade was at once thrown open, and there the court circle and the ministry were to gather to do honour to the new princess, whom Prince Tabnit was to lead to the seat at his right hand at the table's head.
To the amazement of his Highness, Olivia made no movement to accept the hand that he offered.

Instead, she sat slightly at one side of the great glittering throne, looking up at him with something like the faintest conceivable smile which, while one saw, became once more her exquisite, girlish gravity.