“I want you to get me a revolver, Terry; I want a revolver—one of those little ones—before we go to the Christmas party.”
She did not quite understand the curious “let down” expression on Terry’s face, when she made her request.
“You don’t want to shoot George or the snake?” he asked, smiling.
“I don’t want to shoot any one or any thing unless—anyway I’d feel much more comfortable if I had a little revolver.”
“You shall have one; I’ll call it a Christmas present; but can you shoot?”
“I don’t know. I suppose I could hit things if they weren’t too far away or too small.”
“If you accidentally kill any of your friends I shall feel morally responsible, but I suppose I’ll just have to take a chance. Do you by any chance want the thing to be loaded?”
“Of course,” said Ruth, ignoring his frivolous tone.
They went home together almost in silence. Ruth did not know what occupied Terry’s thoughts, but she herself was wondering if she could find the courage to ask Terry to save Gloria from George and Aglipogue, by marrying her himself. It was all very well to be unselfish in love, but for some weeks at least it seemed to her that Terry had given up all effort to interest Gloria. If he would only make an effort he might save Gloria from the Prince and win happiness for himself, but despite her generous resolves, she could not bring herself to advise him to “speak for himself.”
They could hear Prince Aglipogue singing as she unlocked the door of the house on Gramercy Square. The sound of his voice and the piano covered the opening and closing of the door, so that they stood looking in on Gloria and her guest without themselves being observed. The song was just ending—Prince Aglipogue at the piano, her eyes wide and if she heard the music she did not see the singer. There was a trance-like expression in her eyes and when, the song ending, they saw Aglipogue draw her to the seat beside him and lift his face to kiss her, with one movement Terry and Ruth drew back toward the outer door.