“I am sure you are Miss Bennett and this is Charlotte Anne,” turning to Lottie. “I hope we shall be friends.”
“Yes,” I replied, “I am Miss Bennett, and this is Lottie, Mrs. Parks’ daughter, and you are both Miss Burdick.”
I glanced at Irene, who smiled and bowed her head, while Rena replied:
“Yes, both Burdicks, and both Irene, but I am called Rena, for short.”
I think her conscience felt easier after she had given her real name, which, however, made no impression either on myself or Lottie. Our minds were made up as to the identity of the two young ladies. The tall blonde was “the” Miss Burdick; the little dark-haired girl was Rena, a poor relation, probably. But how she won upon me during the half hour before supper was announced, and how beautiful I thought her large, lustrous eyes with the heavy brows and long lashes, and how sweet her smile, which brought the dimples to her cheeks, which were rather pale than otherwise. In a short time I came to think her more attractive than her cousin, with all her queenly beauty and her many little graces of manner. At the supper-table Irene was very gracious, praising everything and finally declaring herself more than delighted with her surroundings.
“Just the place for a quiet summer after the fatigue of Europe and the gaieties of Paris,” she said, and then Mrs. Parks remarked:
“You have never lived much in the country, I suppose.”
There was a peculiar look in Rena’s eyes as they turned toward Irene, who, under the fire of those eyes, replied:
“Oh, yes, I have. I was born in the country, and know all about it, but cannot say I like it as well as the city. I shall like it here, though. Have you many neighbors—visitors, I mean?”
“Quite a few,” Mrs. Parks replied. “There’s Mrs. Ephraim Walker—next door—would run in any time and bring her work, if it weren’t for her husband, who dislikes me because I object to his hens and to his having his line fence two feet on my land. His boy, Sam, rode home with you from the station. He comes here pretty often. And there’s Miss Staples and Upham—nice folks, all of ’em. Then, there’s Mr. McPherson—different from the rest of ’em, and the young man visiting him, Mr. Travers. Maybe you know him?”