“Yes. O Tom! must we call? I believe I’d rather jump into the sea. I don’t know what to say to ladies, especially these from New York.” “Rex, you are a fool! Yes, an everlasting fool!” was Tom’s outspoken answer. “Why, there isn’t a more beautiful girl in the State than Irene, nor a sweeter, lovelier one than Rena; and as for talk, you needn’t worry. Irene is a steam-engine and will probably walk right into you, while Rena—well, she will listen and not talk so much.” “I believe then I shall like her the better,” Reginald said, touching up his horse. “No, you won’t; you mustn’t,” Tom answered, almost fiercely, while Reginald looked curiously at him a moment; then burst into a laugh and replied: “Oh, I see. I remember; you used to be writing Rena on bits of note paper, and once you put her name instead of your own to an exercise. That was at school before we went to college, and Prof. ——, who was sometimes guilty of mild profanity, thought it a joke played on him, and asked who the d—l Rena was? I know who she was now and will not trespass on your preserves. I’m not the trespassing kind. I don’t care for women. I never did. I don’t believe I ever shall. Rena may be well enough for you, but, Tom!” he exclaimed vehemently; but if the intention to confide in his friend had entered his mind, it left it quickly, and he said no more, until Tom, after laughing at the reminiscence of his school-days when Rena’s name had figured at the end of one of his exercises, asked: “Well, Rex, what is it? You said Tom, as if there were something you wanted to tell me.” “Oh, nothing, nothing,” Reginald answered, “only I am a fool, that’s all.” Tom had called him one two or three times that morning, and he did not dispute it, and as they had now reached home the conversation ceased. Tom, who was full of life and activity, found Reginald rather a stupid companion that afternoon. His head ached, in fact it ached most of the time, he said, and if Tom didn’t mind he would lie down after lunch, and Tom advised him to do so and rest, by all means, so as to be fresh for the evening. There was a hunted look in Reginald’s eyes as they met those of Tom, who began to pity him, while mentally calling him weak and a coward. “He can’t help it, though,” he thought, “any more than I can help feeling happier with a woman’s skirt in sight than I am when alone. He was born that way. Poor Rex! I wonder what the outcome will be. Not Rena; no, not Rena, for whom I am acting a lie, and am actually feeling a good deal of interest in the drama, having this advantage that I know both sides of the story.” What Tom had denounced to Rena as a deception did not seem quite so black now that he was in it, and he began to anticipate the evening with a good deal of interest, anxious to see Rena, and anxious to witness the meeting between her and Rex.