“For more reasons than one,” said Ruth. “I discovered yesterday that Professor Pendragon is already a guest of the Peyton-Russells. What will happen when Gloria arrives and they meet? Ought I to tell him, do you think, that she’s coming?” She had been thinking of nothing else since her talk with Nels and was delighted to have an opportunity to tell some one. “This is going to be fun! How do you know, and why do you suppose Angela Peyton-Russell is doing it—some idea of bringing them together again?” “I don’t see any fun in it with that beast Aglipogue along. And Angela didn’t know—at least, I’m quite sure she didn’t, and doesn’t. Professor Pendragon is a friend of Mr. Peyton-Russell and had never met his wife, and I don’t think Angela was going to the house many days before her guests. Mr. Peyton-Russell asked Professor Pendragon there because they’re old friends and Pendragon was ill. He thought the air and quiet would be good for him. He took a nurse along. I only learned yesterday from Nels Zord. Unless Angela has mentioned the names of all her guests, it’s possible that Professor Pendragon doesn’t know she’s coming. It’s going to be awfully awkward—meeting that way. I suppose one of them will return to New York. Perhaps he would if we warned him. Do you think I ought?” “You didn’t warn Gloria, and you had time for that; I don’t see why you should warn her ex-husband. Besides, it isn’t such an awful thing. Ex-husbands and wives meet every day in New York and don’t seem to mind.” “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?”