Then he looked at Amory; wouldn't old Amory know, he wondered.

Wouldn't his mere understanding of news teach him what was happening?
But old Amory, the light flashing on his pince-nez, was keeping one eye on the prince and wondering if the chair that he had just placed for Antoinette was not in the draught of the dome; and little Antoinette was looking about her like a rosebud, new to the butterflies of June; and King Otho was listening, languid, heavy-lidded, sensitive to little values, sophisticating the moment; and Little Cawthorne stood with eyes raised in simple, tolerant wonder; and the others, Bennietod, Mrs.
Hastings and Mr.Augustus Frothingham, showed faces like the pools in which pebbles might be dropped, making no ripples--one must suppose that there are such pools, since there are certainly such faces.

St.George saw how it was.

Here, spoken casually by the prince, just as the Banal would speak of the visible and invisible worlds, here was the Sesame of understanding toward which the centuries had striven, the secret of the link between two worlds; and here, of all mankind, were only they two to hear--they two and that motionless company who knew what the prince knew and who kept it sealed within their eyes.
St.George looked at the multitude in swift understanding.

They were like a Greek chorus, signifying what is.