“Oh, yes; hold on a minute till I get my breath and wipe my face. I was never so hot in my life. You’ve run me here at a race-horse speed in your haste to see Rena,” Reginald gasped, stumbling a little in the dark and then stopping short, while Tom laughed softly, knowing how slowly they had come and what hard work it had been to get Rex along at a snail’s pace, let alone a race-horse’s. If he had dared he would have liked to roar at the ridiculousness of the whole affair, but he was too near the house for that. Waiting a minute, while Reginald wiped his face, and mentally cursing himself for not having given the whole thing up, he said: “Brace up, there’s nothing to fear, I tell you.” And Reginald braced up, and was the first on the piazza and the first to ask if the ladies were in; then he fell back and stopped, while Tom presented Rena to him. She was very pale and there was a wistful look in her eyes which she lifted to Tom as if for help and then turned full upon Mr. Travers, who took her slim, white hand in one almost as white and slim and “horribly cold and clammy” she afterward confided to Tom, when telling him how Mr. Travers scarcely looked at her in his eagerness to get to Irene. That young lady had heard the sound of footsteps and voices on the piazza, but knowing that her attitude was perfect she did not move except to push her loose sleeves a little further up so as to show more of her round, white arm. She was a born actress and would have made a success on the stage with very little training. She was there to win Reginald Travers, and no art of which she was mistress would be left undone to secure the desired result; and she sat waiting for the first move in the game she was playing. As I entered the room, followed by Mr. Travers, Rena and Tom, the latter of whom had Rena’s hand and was squeezing it rather hard, while she was trying to disengage it, Irene exclaimed: “O Miss Bennett! is that you?” then, with a pretty gesture of surprise, she rose to her feet and bowed gracefully as I presented her to Mr. Travers. She did not offer him her hand, thinking a certain amount of reserve was befitting her introduction to him. “I am very pleased to meet you,” she said. “Pray be seated. Oh, not in that dreadful chair; they are all bad enough, but that is the worst of all,” she added, with a laugh, as Reginald dropped into the haircloth rocker, saying: “Thanks, this will do very well.” He was glad of any haven and did not mind the poise of the back which threw him forward rather awkwardly. With his whole soul he was looking at Irene, who stood so near him that her organdie skirt just touched his knees and he detected the faint perfume she always had about her. He hated perfumes as a rule, and heliotrope the most of all, but he forgot it in his surprise at the girl’s beauty. “Tom didn’t tell me more than half the truth,” he thought, as she greeted Tom in a most cousinly manner.