"And I'll meet you at Paddington, just before the train comes in," cried Nan.
So matters were arranged, somewhat to the relief of Prue, who had many little businesses in hand, and foresaw small leisure. But Nan failed to keep her share in the appointment; and she failed through no fault of her own.
Mr. Valentine proved to be a true weather-prophet, so far as that particular gale was concerned. Unknown to him, at the moment when he spoke, a cyclone had been announced in the papers, as on its road across the Atlantic, and the cyclone turned out to be no effete or worn-out specimen of its kind. As the morning passed, ever-increasing howls from warring elements could be heard, and the wind became after midday so violent, that at street-corners women were nearly swept off their feet, while flying tiles rendered walking a matter of danger.
"Do you think you ought to go?" Prue asked, when the younger girl appeared in hat and jacket. Prue was with her mother in the drawing room, the windows of which overlooked the street in front.
"They say a chimney has come down, in the next square."
"Oh, I'm all right. I shall not hurt. It will be fun to see the people."
"You must take care. Father went out to the post-pillar, and a slate fell close to him."
"Like being under fire, isn't it? But everybody can't stay in, and why should I?" asked Nan. "Why! I've got two odd gloves."
"If I went, I would go respectable."
"Of course you would, because you are Prue! As if I cared!" said Nan, flourishing the second right-hand covering. "Not worth another climb. I hate London staircases."