She made a movement as if to rise, but Reginald held her back, as she meant he should.
“Sit still,” he said, in the same commanding tone he had used when he bade her come away from the well. “You disturb me very much.”
He looked upon her acting as real, and did not care for any such catastrophe as had happened to Nannie.
“What a softie he must be,” was Irene’s mental comment, as she yielded gracefully to his command, and said, “Thank you, Mr. Travers, for caring what I do. Few people except Rena have ever cared.”
“You are very fond of your cousin, I see,” Reginald said.
“Fond of her!” Irene replied, speaking truthfully. “I rather think I am. How can I help it, when she is the sweetest, jolliest little girl in the world?”
The word jolliest grated on Reginald’s ears. In his ignorance of girls, a jolly one savored of a fast one, for whom he could have no liking. As yet he had seen nothing approaching to fast, or jolly, in Rena, on whose face the moonlight was falling, bringing out all its beauty and making him wonder that he had not at first noticed how pretty she was. Irene, who was watching him, followed the direction of his eyes and was herself struck with the sweetness of Rena’s face. “I believe he is admiring her more than me,” she thought, with a sharp pang of jealousy lest she should find Rena a formidable rival in her path. This would never do, and with her usual swiftness of action she said:
“Tom shares my opinion of Rena. See how happy he looks.”
“Yes,” Reginald answered, glancing at Tom, who did look supremely happy with Rena beside him brushing some pine-needles from his sleeve; and for a moment Reginald found himself wondering how he should feel with Irene brushing his coat-sleeve.
On the whole, he would not care to have her, he thought, and lest such a thing should happen he moved from under a pine branch which hung over him. She was a superb creature, more beautiful than any woman he had ever seen, and very likely she would be his wife, when he had made up his mind, if he ever did. But he was nervous and tired and wanted to go home, and at last asked Tom if he had any idea how late it was, and if they were not keeping the ladies out in the damp air too long. Tom would willingly have stayed there all night with Rena near him brushing the pine-needles from his arm and once picking one from his neck where it had fallen. He was sitting under the extreme end of a long branch of a tree and thus caught the dead needles when they dropped. But he didn’t mind, and the touch of Rena’s fingers sent the blood rushing through his veins at a headlong speed, making him long to imprison the little hand in his and cover it with kisses. He did take it as he rose in response to Reginald’s question, and held it while he said: