“Well, we’ve seen the last of them now.”
“I don’t know. They talk of going to Venice.”
“Oh, I hope not. Mr. Homer and Floyd Austin are to meet us there, and I don’t want those smiling popinjays bothering around.”
“No, I don’t, either.”
The train was a comfortable one, and the party were soon comfortably settled in it.
Mr. Fairfield had not been able to secure an entire compartment for themselves, and as they occupied but three seats, an elderly Italian couple came in with them.
This left one vacant seat, into which the girls piled their wraps and some magazines and also some candy and flowers, which their gallant admirers had sent them as a parting souvenir.
They had previously asked the Italian dame, by smiles and signs, if she cared to use this vacant seat, but as she kept on her queer little bonnet, and cape, she signed that she had no use for it. Mr. Fairfield put all their bags and hats in the upper racks and they settled down for a long, but not unpleasant ride.
For a time the girls chatted, and then Patty looked over some magazines and papers, while Flo crocheted lace, which was a favourite occupation of hers. The elderly Italian gentleman was immersed in a newspaper, and his amiable-looking wife nodded as she alternately dozed and wakened.