“Certainly, yes; I have no maid. I do my own work, Charlotte Anne and I—Charlotte Anne is my daughter. I don’t know where she is, not to come and be introduced. I will get you some water—not ice. We don’t have it here in the country, but our well is the coldest and best in town.” She left the room for the water, and the moment she was gone, Rena exclaimed: “Irene, for pity’s sake, drop your fine-lady airs, and don’t go to calling for maids and ice-water. You might have known there were none here.” Irene laughed and said: “I must be a fine lady if I play the rôle you have assigned me, and don’t you go and spoil everything because of Tom’s letter. Let’s have some fun a little while. It is not my fault that Mrs. Parks has evidently mistaken me for you. She has asked no questions and I have told no lies, and we are not supposed to know what she thinks. So, _soyez tranquille, ma chère cousine_.” At this point Mrs. Parks returned with the water, wondering again where Charlotte Anne was that she didn’t come to be introduced. “There’s a Miss Bennett from Albany boarding here—not as young as you be, but a very nice woman. I’m sure you’ll like her,” she said, again addressing herself to Irene, who bowed, but did not manifest any desire to be presented to either Miss Bennett or Charlotte Anne, the latter of whom stole quietly down the back stairs, while I stayed in my room wondering how I should like the newcomers and if life at the farmhouse would be as pleasant with them as it had been without them. Meanwhile the young ladies were discussing whether it was worth the trouble to change their dresses; deciding finally that is was not, as they were very tired and there were only Mrs. Parks, Charlotte Anne and Miss Bennett to see them. In the midst of their discussion there was a knock at Rena’s door. This time it was Charlotte Anne, who held a note in her hand directed to Miss Rena Burdick. “Mr. McPherson’s man brought it. I suppose it’s for you,” she said, passing it to Rena, who recognized Tom’s handwriting. “It is for me—yes,” she said, taking the note in which were only a few lines to the effect that Tom and Reginald would call that evening about eight, or half-past. “Then I shall change my dress,” Irene said, when the note was read to her, and she began at once to unpack her trunk. Rena, however, stood by her first decision. She was tired and her head ached, and she didn’t care for Tom anyway and less for Mr. Travers. She would put on a clean shirt-waist, with fresh collar and cuffs, and that was all. But Irene proceeded to make an elaborate toilet, taking a great deal of pains with her hair, which, with the help of a false braid, was piled higher than usual upon her head and made her seem as tall as an ordinary man. “I think I shall wear this,” she said, selecting a sheer light organdy, with frills and bertha of lace, and knots of ribbon here and there, tied and placed as only French fingers could place and tie them.