The princess rose obediently.
But the ice was broken; and the kisses of the princess, if not frequent, were, at any rate, not rare. The Terror at first endured them; then he came rather to like them. But he strictly enjoined discretion on her; it would never do for Erebus to learn that she kissed him. The princess had no desire that Erebus, or any one else for that matter, should learn; but discretion and kisses have no natural affinity; and, without their knowing it, Wiggins became aware of the practise.
He had always observed that the Twins had no secrets from each other; and he never dreamed that he was letting an uncommonly awkward cat out of a bag when during a lull in the strenuous life, he said to Erebus:
“I suppose the Terror’s in love with the princess, kissing her like that. I think it’s awfully silly.” And he spurned the earth.
Erebus grabbed his arm and cried fiercely: “He never does!”
Wiggins looked at her in some surprise; her face was one dusky flush; and her eyes were flashing. He had seen her angry often enough, but never so angry as this; and he saw plainly that he had committed a grievous indiscretion.
“Perhaps she kissed him,” he said quickly.
“He’d never let her!” cried Erebus fiercely.
“Perhaps they didn’t,” said Wiggins readily.
“You know they did!” cried Erebus yet more fiercely.