He led her to a great chair hewn from quarries of things silver and unremembered, and he sat at her feet upon a bench that might have been a stone of the altar of some forgotten deity of dreams, at last worshiped as it should long have been worshiped by all the host that had passed it by.

He looked up in her face, and the room was like a place of open water where heaven is mirrored in earth, and earth reflects and answers heaven.
St.George laughed a little for sheer, inextinguishable happiness.
"Once," he said, "once I breakfasted with you, on tea and--if I remember correctly--gold and silver muffins.

Won't you breakfast with me now ?" Olivia looked down at him, her heart still clamourous with its anxiety of the night and of the morning.
"Tell me where you can have been," she said only; "didn't you know how distressed we would be?
We imagined everything--in this dreadful place.

And we feared everything, and we--" but yet the "we" did not deceive St.George; how could it with her eyes, for all their avoidings, so divinely upon him?
"Did you," he said, "ah--did you wonder?
I wish I knew!" "And my father--where did you find him ?" she besought.

"It was you?
You found him, did you not ?" St.George looked down at a fold of her gown that was fallen across his knee.