Without directly answering him Irene said good-night and left the room with a growing feeling that any chance she might have had with Rex was lost. She was sure of it when after their return to Mrs. Parks’, Rena, who had a headache, went to her room, leaving her with Tom. She made no move to follow Rena, for she wanted to see Tom alone and learn, if possible, how she stood with Rex, who, she said, seemed greatly changed. “He is very weak, I know, but he did not seem a bit glad to see me, and he was rather fond of me once—you know he was. What has happened? Do you think it is because I am Irene of Claremont, instead of Irene of New York, which has changed him?” Tom hesitated a moment, then he said: “Rex is not that kind of man. If he had really loved you nothing would have changed him.” This was not very encouraging to Irene, but there was worse to come as Tom continued: “I may as well tell you the whole. I have told you that Sam Walker saw you steal up behind Rex when he was at the well and look over his shoulder. It seems Rex was foolish enough to think it was really an apparition, as you did not explain. He never suspects a joke, but Sam Walker told him the truth, which must have surprised him. His fever was coming on and the half face and eye seen in the mirror impressed him so much that they were with him in his delirium, making him so wild that nothing quieted him except Rena, who had the faculty of dissipating his fancies.” Then Tom went in to describe the eye, which sometimes danced before Rex and again alighted here and there and everywhere, until even he and Colin began to feel crawly when Rex said it was on them. Tom stopped a moment as he saw how agitated Irene seemed; then he continued: “Sometimes the room was full of eyes, winking and blinking at him, while he used both hands to brush them away. It was awful to see him. That braid of hair he foolishly thought was growing on your head when he pulled it off troubled him, too,—winding itself round his neck and arms until Rena threw it from the window and made him think it had gone out to sea, but the eye stuck.” “Oh, Tom! please stop. I can’t bear any more,” Irene exclaimed, and there was a sob in her voice as she began to understand that all hope was swept away if Rex knew the whole of that episode at the well and had carried the memory of it in his delirium. Tom was sorry for her, she looked so distressed, but he had not finished all he meant to say, and continued: “Rex would not know how to deceive any one and cannot understand deception in another. As to matrimony, he never cared for girls, and Sandy’s will troubled him. Still he meant to do right, and if the girl mentioned in it liked him he would compel himself to like her. Excuse me, Irene, for speaking so plainly. You did seem to care for him, and he tried to care for you, and if he had never been undeceived he might have proposed to you as he has to Rena since he learned the truth.”