“Why not go with us part of the way? and—by George, that’s just the thing!—let’s go and have a look at Nannie’s Well. You know the way, Miss Bennett. You’ll go and chaperon us,” Tom said, looking at me, who had been but a figure-head, taking little part in the conversation.
I had only looked on and listened and watched Mr. Travers and Irene, making up my mind that they were ill suited to each other, he was so reserved and cold, and she so full of dash and push. Too much so, I thought, but possibly contact with him would tone her down, while contact with her might tone him up.
“Certainly, I’ll go with you,” I said to Tom, who repeated his question as to whether I would show them the way to the well.
Mrs. Parks, who had left the room a moment in quest of Charlotte Anne, whom she wished to present to the gentlemen, came back in time to hear my reply, and began at once to protest.
“For the land’s sake, Miss Bennett, you don’t mean you are goin’ out in the damp, with your digester. You’ll catch your never-get-over. You’d better let the young folks go alone, though I warn them there’s a heavy dew and they’ll get wet as sop.”
“I’ll wrap this around me,” I said, throwing a knitted shawl over my shoulders, while Rena took her hat and jacket.
Irene declined Mrs. Parks’ offer of her cape.
“I never take cold,” she said, “nor need any one unless she chooses. There’s no such thing as a cold. It’s only a mortal belief.”
“Oh, ho! Christian Science, are you? The last thing I heard, your fad was Theosophy,” Tom said, “and the getting into an occult body.”
Reginald looked alarmed. What if Irene should take to Theosophy, and Christian Science and Spiritualism, and all the other isms of the day! He believed he should follow Nannie into the well, or do something desperate. Well, he needn’t be in a hurry. The will distinctly gave them time to know their own minds, and he meant to know his before he made the plunge either into the well or into matrimony, or hinted at the will to Irene, or any one.