“Perhaps it did stop being—­in this dimension,” St. George could not help saying.

At this she laughed in assent.

“Who knows,” she said, “what may be true of us—­nous autres in the Fourth Dimension?  In Yaque queer things are true.  And of course you never can tell—­”

At this St. George turned toward her, and his eyes compelled hers.

“Ah, yes, you can,” he told her, “yes, you can.”

Then he folded his arms and leaned against the stone prisms again, looking down at her.  Evidently the magician, whoever he was, did not mind his saying that, for the palace did not crumble or the moon cease from shining on the white walls.

“Still,” she answered, looking toward the sea, “queer things are true in Yaque.  It is queer that you are here.  Say that it is.”

“Heaven knows that it is,” assented St. George obediently.

Presently, realizing that the terrace did not intend to turn into a cloud out-of-hand, they set themselves to talk seriously, and St. George had not known her so adorable, he was once more certain, as when she tried to thank him for his pursuit the night before.  He had omitted to mention that he had brought her back alone to the Palace of the Litany, for that was too exquisite a thing, he decided, to be spoiled by leaving out the most exquisite part.  Besides, there was enough that was serious to be discussed, in all conscience, in spite of the moon.

“Tell me,” said St. George instead, “what has happened to you since that breakfast at the Boris.  Remember, I have come all the way from New York to interview you, Mademoiselle the Princess.”

So Olivia told him the story of the passage in the submarine which had arrived in Yaque two days earlier than The Aloha; of the first trip up Mount Khalak in the imperial airship; of Mrs. Hastings’ frantic fear and her utter refusal ever to descend; and of what she herself had done since her arrival.  This included a most practical account of effort that delighted and amazed St. George.  No wonder Mrs. Hastings had said that she always left everything “executive” to Olivia.  For Olivia had sent wireless messages all over the island offering an immense reward for information about the king, her father; she had assigned forty servants of the royal household to engage in a personal search for such information and to report to her each night; she had ordered every house in Yaque, not excepting the House of the Litany and the king’s palace itself, to be searched from dungeon to tower; and, as St. George already knew, she had brought about a special meeting of the High Council at noon that day.

“It was very little,” said the American princess apologetically, “but I did what I could.”

“What about the meeting of the High Council?” asked St. George eagerly; “didn’t anything come of that?”

“Nothing,” she answered, “they were like adamant.  I thought of offering to raise the Hereditary Treasure by incorporating the island and selling the shares in America.  Nobody could ever have found what the shares stood for, but that happens every day.  Half the corporations must be capitalized chiefly in the Fourth Dimension.  That is all,” she added wearily, “save that day after to-morrow I am to be married.”