“Guess I’d better go,” whispered Terry.
“Yes; you saw George was right. They didn’t see us—don’t forget my revolver.”
She closed the door after Terry, this time with a loud bang that could not fail to be heard and as she turned back she saw, far down the hall, two red eyes gleaming at her, like the eyes of a cat. She wondered if George had been watching too, and if his quick ears caught her whispered words to Terry.
Gloria called her name before she entered the room, almost like old times, but Prince Aglipogue did not seem to be particularly pleased to see her.
“You were singing,” she said to him. “Please don’t stop because I’ve come. I love to hear you.”
“Thank you, but it is late for more music; and it is late, too, for little girls who study, to be up even for the sake of music.”
Even a week ago he would not have dared speak to her like that. He sat staring at her now, out of his insolent, oily black eyes, as if she were really a troublesome child. For a moment anger choked her voice and she half expected Gloria to speak for her, but Gloria was still looking at Aglipogue, the strange trance-like expression in her eyes, and Ruth became calm. If Prince Aglipogue chose to be rude she could be impervious to rudeness.
“I’m not trying to make the morning classes any more, Prince Aglipogue, so I can stay up as long as I like, but perhaps you’re tired of singing.”
It was Aglipogue who looked at Gloria now as if he expected her to send Ruth away, but she said nothing, sitting quite still with her long hands folded in her lap, a most uncharacteristic pose, and a faint smile on her lips. She seemed to have forgotten both of them. It seemed incredible that less than five minutes before Ruth had seen her bend her head to meet the lips of the fat singer—incredible and horrible.
“Yes, I’m tired—of singing,” said Aglipogue after a pause. He rose and lifted one of Gloria’s lovely hands and kissed it. Simultaneously George appeared at the door with his hat and stick. It seemed to Ruth that under his air of great deference and humility George was sneering at the Prince. Gloria, seemingly only half roused from her trance or reverie, rose also in farewell and seemed to struggle to concentrate on her departing guest.