Mr. Frothingham's long hands hung down and he looked as if she had proposed a jaunt to Mars.
"My physician has ordered a sea-change," he mumbled doubtfully, "my daughter Antoinette—I—really—there is nothing in all my experience—"
"Olivia!" Mrs. Hastings in tears was superintending the search for both side-combs.
"Aunt Dora," said Olivia, "you're not going to fail me now. Prince Tabnit—at noon to-morrow. Where shall we meet?"
St. George listened, glowing.
"May I have the honour," suggested the prince, "of waiting upon you at noon to conduct you? And I need hardly say that we undertake the journey under oath of secrecy?"
"Anything—anything!" cried Olivia.
"Oh, my dear Olivia," breathed Mrs. Hastings weakly, "taking me, at my age, into this awful place of Four Dimentias—or whatever it was you said."
"We will be ready to go with you at noon," said Olivia steadily.
St. George held his peace as they made their adieux. A great many things remained to be thought out, but one was clear enough.