When the music sank a little her voice sounded above it with a sweet distinctness: "One moment, if you please, your Highness," she said clearly.
It was the first time that St.George had heard her voice since its good-by to him in New York.

And before her words his vague fears for her were triumphantly driven.

The spirit that he had hoped for was in her face, and something else; St.George could have sworn that he saw, but no one else could have seen the look, a glimpse of that delicate roguery that had held him captive when he had breakfasted with her--several hundred years before, was it ?--at the Boris.

Ah, he need not have feared for her, he told himself exultantly.

For this was Olivia--of America--standing in a company of the women who seemed like the women of whom men dream, and whose presence, save in glimpses at first meetings, they perhaps never wholly realize.