He had called her so in his illness, but never just as he did now, and Rena flushed a little and tried to take her hand from his. But he held it fast and went on:
“What would you do if I told you that I loved you?”
“I should say you were crazy, and go straight and tell Tom,” was Rena’s answer.
“Of course you’d tell Tom,” Rex said. “I’ve told him.”
“Told him that you loved me, and he let you!” Rena exclaimed, releasing herself from his grasp and springing to her feet and trembling like a scared bird ready for flight.
“Sit down and hear me out,” Rex said, and Rena sat down, wondering at herself for obeying him, and at his manner which compelled obedience.
“Yes, I told Tom,” he continued. “I mean to do things fairly, and now I tell you that if I know what love means I love you.”
“I’ll not sit here to listen to such insanity. I’ll call Miss Bennett, or Tom, or both,” Rena said, starting again to rise, but Rex’s imperative “Sit still,” kept her quiet, while he went on:
“I am an awkward man as you know, and in nothing more so than in lovemaking, the last thing in the world I once thought I should have attempted. Uncle Colin tried to coach me when I was laboring under a mistake and thought I ought to make love to some one else. He said I must ask the girl if her pulse beat in unison with mine.”
“Mine don’t! I can tell you that,” Rena interrupted him, while he laughed and still held her with something in his eyes she could not resist.