“In a way I suppose I didn’t tell Gloria because she told me not to mention his name again, and besides I’d like to have her meet him, providing she didn’t make a scene. If she saw him again I don’t think she could go on with the Prince.”
“Do you think she really is going to marry him?” asked Terry.
“Of course she is, unless you or some one stops her; I don’t see how you can stand by quietly and see it done.”
“It’s no affair—here he comes now.”
Their conversation, thus broken off by the reappearance of Prince Aglipogue, they turned to the scenery outside, while their heavy companion, turning his back upon them as much as possible, pretended to read a magazine. The snow that had been falling in thin flakes in New York was coming down in great, feathery “blobs,” as Terry descriptively called them. At first they did not see any hills, but the movement of the train and the stertorous puffing of the engine told them that they were going steadily upgrade. Now the ground was entirely covered with snow, and the train twisted so continuously around the hills that sometimes they could see the engine curving in front of them, through the window.
“If the snow continues like this, I’m afraid we’ll be many hours late,” said Terry.
“It won’t matter much. We’re to be there at two o’clock, and we couldn’t be delayed more than a few hours at most, could we?”
“You are pleased to be cheerful,” said the Prince. Evidently he had not been so deeply engaged with his magazine as he pretended. “If I am forced on this train to remain a moment longer than is necessary I shall perish.”
“They do get snow bound, sometimes, you know,” said Terry cheerfully. “It won’t be so bad if we’re near some town. We can just get off and spend the night in an hotel.”
At this the Prince only glared.