Tom’s first impulse was to tell Rena and bid her keep away from Rex till his crazy fancy left him; then the ridiculousness of the affair struck him and he concluded to let matters take their course, knowing she would refuse and thinking it would amuse him to know what Rex said to her and what she said to him. He did not like to quarrel with Rex, who certainly was a little off, and then he had been outrageously fooled, and if it was any satisfaction for him to propose to Rena and be rejected, let him do it and get the money. He deserved something for the way he had been treated. This was Tom’s decision, and he began to look forward with some interest to the result of Rex’s experiment. The next morning when Rena came and went into Rex’s room, Tom, who was there, made some excuse for going out, and the two were left alone. Rex was propped up on cushions and pillows and Rena sat in a low chair beside him where he could look into her face, which never seemed fairer and sweeter than it did now, awakening in him so keen a regret that she was not for him, that for a few moments he felt that if there were a shadow of a chance to win her he would take that chance and prove a traitor to Tom. She had gathered some wild flowers on her way through the fields and as she gave them to him he held her hand in a firm grasp and said: “Rena.” He had called her so in his illness, but never just as he did now, and Rena flushed a little and tried to take her hand from his. But he held it fast and went on: “What would you do if I told you that I loved you?” “I should say you were crazy, and go straight and tell Tom,” was Rena’s answer. “Of course you’d tell Tom,” Rex said. “I’ve told him.” “Told him that you loved me, and he let you!” Rena exclaimed, releasing herself from his grasp and springing to her feet and trembling like a scared bird ready for flight. “Sit down and hear me out,” Rex said, and Rena sat down, wondering at herself for obeying him, and at his manner which compelled obedience. “Yes, I told Tom,” he continued. “I mean to do things fairly, and now I tell you that if I know what love means I love you.” “I’ll not sit here to listen to such insanity. I’ll call Miss Bennett, or Tom, or both,” Rena said, starting again to rise, but Rex’s imperative “Sit still,” kept her quiet, while he went on: “I am an awkward man as you know, and in nothing more so than in lovemaking, the last thing in the world I once thought I should have attempted. Uncle Colin tried to coach me when I was laboring under a mistake and thought I ought to make love to some one else. He said I must ask the girl if her pulse beat in unison with mine.” “Mine don’t! I can tell you that,” Rena interrupted him, while he laughed and still held her with something in his eyes she could not resist. “No,” he said, I suppose not. I did not think they did; “but pulse or no pulse, I offer you my heart and hand—not exactly in Tom’s language, perhaps——”