“If I am half-way in the fashion I am satisfied,” he was wont to say in college, where he was always singled out as the best-looking man in a crowd, while Reginald was the most aristocratic-looking, and best dressed.
On this occasion he was immaculate in his attire when he came down to the hall where Tom was waiting for him. He had taken a bath—in fact he had taken two that day, hoping to cool the fever in his veins, and was literally clean without and within, as Tom had written of him to Rena. He had also taken a good deal of pains with his toilet and looked as if fresh from the hands of his laundress and tailor as he stood trying to pull on a new glove which stuck at the thumb.
“Going to wear gloves?” Tom said, in some surprise, “I am not. It is too hot, and my hands are too sweaty to get them on if I tried.”
“You think she won’t care?” Reginald asked, removing the obstinate glove.
“I am sure she won’t; but hurry up. Rena is an early bird, and I should not be surprised if we found her in bed,” Tom said.
To hurry Reginald was never an easy matter, and now he was worse than ever, and lagged so on the way that Tom stopped once and said:
“What’s the matter, old fellow? You act as if you were going to be hung.”
“I feel as if I were,” Reginald replied. “You know I never could talk to ladies, and this buster, as that boy called Miss Irene, takes my breath away. If it were only Rena——”
“Hang Rena!” Tom said, involuntarily, and with a twinge of jealousy. “She’s a little spitfire when she tries to be. She is angry with me just now, and maybe will be sulky, but the other is all amiability and will be very gracious to you.”
Something in Tom’s tone, as he said “you,” struck Reginald with sudden alarm. Did Tom know what he was trying to keep from him and what he hoped the girl would keep to herself until her mind was made up?