Think of Crass--digging for head-lines." St.George rose abruptly.

Amory was delicious, especially his drawl; but there were times-- "Print it," he exclaimed, "you might as well try to print the absolute." Amory nodded.
"Oh, if you're going to be Neoplatonic," he said, "I'm off to hum an Orphic hymn.

Isn't it about time for the prince?
I want to get out with the camera, while the light is good." The lateness of the hour of their arrival at the palace the evening before had prevented the prince from receiving them, but he had sent a most courteous message announcing that he himself would wait upon them at a time which he appointed.

While they were abiding his coming, Rollo setting aside the dishes, Amory smoking, strolling up and down, and examining the faint symbolic devices upon the walls' tiling, St.George stood before one of the casements, and looked over the aisles of flowering tree-tops to the grim, grey sides of Mount Khalak, inscrutable, inaccessible, now not even hinting at the walls and towers upon its secret summit.

He was thinking how heavenly curious it was that the most wonderful thing in his commonplace world of New York--that is, his meeting with Olivia--should, out here in this world of things wonderful beyond all dream, still hold supreme its place as the sovereign wonder, the sovereign delight.
"I dare say that means something," he said vaguely to himself, "and I dare say all the people who are--in love--know what it does mean," and at this his spirit of adventure must have nodded at him, as if it understood, too.
When, in a little time, Prince Tabnit appeared at the open door of the "porch of light," it was as if he had parted from St.George in McDougle Street but the night before.