When supper was over, I went with the ladies out upon the piazza, where I usually sat, and tried to entertain them, finding that Irene was more ready to talk than Rena, who seemed abstracted, with a troubled look in her eyes which I could not understand. At every sound of wheels she started and looked anxiously down the road as if expecting some one, while Irene chatted on as composedly as if her ear, too, were not constantly strained and her eyes on the alert. As it began to grow dark a lamp was brought into the parlor where I seldom sat, it was so stiff and dreary, with its large-patterned, oldtime carpet, its haircloth rocker, which threw your body forward instead of back, its long, black sofa and six chairs standing in a straight line against the wall, its centre-table with a red cover, and its mirror, ornamented with peacock feathers on the sides and top. It was not a room in which to stay on a hot night when there was the cool piazza with its comfortable seats and the scent of the honeysuckle and roses in the air. Irene, however, seemed to prefer it, and as soon as the lamp was lighted, arose, saying to me: “I think I’ll go in; it is getting damp.” Then to Rena, who began to protest, she said in a low tone not designed for me to hear, “Don’t you know we can’t see how he looks out here? Come in.” “You can go. I shall stay with Miss Bennett,” Rena replied, and Irene went in alone, trying the rocking-chair first, but leaving it at once as altogether too uncomfortable and too ill suited to the graceful attitude she meant to assume. One chair after another was tried until a choice was made and a position chosen where the lamplight would fall fully upon her, while she could see herself in the mirror opposite. She knew she could bear the strongest light and that she was as near the perfection of youth and beauty and grace as one well could be, as she sat fanning herself and waiting, while outside the darkness deepened and I sat talking to Rena, who was waiting and listening quite as intently as Irene. “It must be nearly nine,” she said at last; then started suddenly to her feet and sat down as quickly, as up the walk two gentlemen came, pausing a moment at the foot of the steps to take out their cards. We were in the shadow where they could not see us, but I could see them, and knowing that Lottie had stolen out with Sam and that Mrs. Parks was busy with some domestic duty in the kitchen, I went forward to meet the strangers. “Are the ladies—the Misses Burdick in, and yes, Miss Bennett, too?” Mr. Travers asked, adding me to the list as he saw who I was. He had only two cards in his hand, for he had forgotten me entirely, but it did not matter. I meant to be present when he first met his intended bride, and I answered: “We are all in, or rather Miss Burdick is in the parlor, and Miss Rena and I are on the piazza, but we will come in.”