There was a scarcely perceptible stir among the members of the High Council, for even the liberals were, it would seem, taken aback by a departure which they themselves had not instituted.  Olivia, still in submission to tradition which she could not violate, had gained the time for which she hoped.  With a grace that was like the conferring of a royal favour, Prince Tabnit appointed the meeting of the High Council for noon on the following day.

“May the gods permit the possible,” he added, and once more extended his hand to Olivia.  This time, with lowered eyes, she gave him the tips of her fingers and, as the beckoning music swelled a delicate prelude, she stepped from the dais and suffered the prince to lead her toward the banquet hall.

Amory drew a long breath, and it came to St. George that if he, Amory, said anything about what he would give if he had a leased wire to the Sentinel Office, there would no longer be room on the island for them both.  But Amory said no such thing.  Instead, he looked at St. George in distinct hesitation.

“I say,” he brought out finally, “St. George, by Jove, do you know, it seems to me I’ve seen Miss Frothingham before.  And how jolly beautiful she is,” he added almost reverently.

“Maybe it was when you were a Phoenician galley slave and she went by in a trireme,” offered St. George, trying to keep in sight the bright hair and the floating veil beyond the press of the crowd.  Would he see Olivia and would he be able to speak with her, and did she know he was there, and would she be angry?  Ah well, she could not possibly be angry, he thought; but with all this in his mind it was hardly reasonable of Amory to expect him to speculate on where Miss Frothingham might have been seen before.  If it weren’t for this Balator now, St. George said to himself restlessly, and suddenly observed that Balator was expecting them to follow him.  So, in the slow-moving throng, all soft hues and soft laughter, they made their way toward the colonnade that cut off the banquet room.  And at every step St. George thought, “she has passed here—­and here—­and here,” and all the while, through the mighty open rafters in the conical roof, were to be seen those strange banners joyously floating in the delicate, alien light.  The wine of the moment flowed in his veins, and he moved under strange banners, with a strange ecstasy in his heart.

Therefore, suddenly to hear Rollo’s voice at his shoulder came as a distinct shock.

“It’s one of them little brown ’uns, sir,” Rollo announced in his best tone of mystery.  “He’s settin’ upstairs, sir, an’ he’s all fer settin’ there till he sees you.  He says it’s most important, sir.”

Amory heard.

“Shall I go up?” he asked eagerly; “I’d like a whiff of a pipe, anyway.  It’ll be something to tie to.”

“Will you go?” asked St. George in undisguised gratitude.  He was prepared to accept most risks rather than to lose sight of the star he was following.