Tom knew perfectly well what he meant, but feigned ignorance.
“Mrs. Parks,” he repeated; “who is she?”
“Why—er—you know. You asked about her, and I told you. She is to board the—your cousins—you know.”
“Oh, yes, I remember,” and Tom looked back at the house, and wondered which was to be Rena’s room, and if he would ever sit with her on the circular seat under the big maple, and if Reginald would fall in love with her, or would pretend that he did in order to get the money. “That isn’t like Rex,” he said to himself. “There isn’t a deceptive hair in his head, and mine is bristling with them.” Then he remarked:
“It must be pleasant for Mrs. Parks to have two young girls with her.”
“Yes, I dare say—and she has an oldish kind of young lady there now, whose name has slipped my mind,” Reginald replied, adding after a pause, “I promised to call upon her, but have not done so. My sins of omission are very great.”
“You can ask for her to-night when we call upon the Misses Burdick,” Tom suggested, and he could see Rex’s hands grow limp and his head droop between his shoulders, as he said:
“Yes. O Tom! must we call? I believe I’d rather jump into the sea. I don’t know what to say to ladies, especially these from New York.”
“Rex, you are a fool! Yes, an everlasting fool!” was Tom’s outspoken answer. “Why, there isn’t a more beautiful girl in the State than Irene, nor a sweeter, lovelier one than Rena; and as for talk, you needn’t worry. Irene is a steam-engine and will probably walk right into you, while Rena—well, she will listen and not talk so much.”
“I believe then I shall like her the better,” Reginald said, touching up his horse.