Reginald, who still held Rena’s arm, clutched it so tight that she gave a little cry and wrenched herself from him.
“I’ve hurt you,” he said, in great distress. “I am always doing something stupid. I am so sorry.”
“It does not matter at all,” Rena replied. “Nothing matters but myself, Mr. Travers.”
She was looking at him with such pleading in her eyes that he felt sure there was something the matter, and said to her in a voice she had never heard from him before:
“What is it? Can I do anything for you?”
She wanted to tell him the truth then and there without waiting to consult Tom, but her courage failed her. She couldn’t do it, and it was not the place either.
“No, thanks,” was her answer. “I am a little nervous with those chairs and things which belonged to the dead. That is all, and I think it is time we were going home. The sun is down, you see.”
Irene was not at all anxious to go, but Rena was so persistent that the carriage was brought to the door and we were soon saying good-night to the three gentlemen, who stood waving their hands to us as we drove down the avenue, one of them, certainly, looking relieved that the affair was over.
CHAPTER XI
DRIFTING
The next morning Tom came to the farmhouse and sat with Rena under the great tree in Mrs. Parks’ yard. Irene was not feeling quite well, and kept her room, leaving Rena alone with Tom. There had been a few words between herself and Rena with, regard to the deception which the latter wished to end and Irene had met the proposal with an insinuation that it looked very much as if Rena was jealous of the attentions paid to her by Mr. McPherson and wished to transfer them to herself. Rena was silenced but not convinced, and when alone with Tom she opened her heart to him and asked what she ought to do!