"Yesterday, when I was motoring, I thought—"
"I was. You did," St. George assured her. "I was in the prince's motor. The procession was temporarily tied up, you remember. Did you really think it was I?"
But this the lady passed serenely over.
"Last night," she said, "when that terrible thing happened, who was it in the other motor? Who was it, there in the road when I—was it you? Was it?" she demanded.
"Did you think it was I?" asked St. George simply.
"Afterward—when I was back in the palace—I thought I must have dreamed it," she answered, "and no one seemed to know, and I didn't know. But I did fancy—you see, they think father has taken the treasure," she said, "and they thought if they could hide me somewhere and let it be known, that he would make some sign."
"It was monstrous," said St. George; "you are really not safe here for one moment. Tell me," he asked eagerly, "the car you were in—what became of that?"
"I meant to ask you that," she said quickly. "I couldn't tell, I didn't know whether it turned aside from the road, or whether they dropped me out and went on. Really, it was all so quick that it was almost as if the motor had stopped being, and left me there."
"Perhaps it did stop being—in this dimension," St. George could not help saying.
At this she laughed in assent.