“Certainly, I’ll go with you,” I said to Tom, who repeated his question as to whether I would show them the way to the well. Mrs. Parks, who had left the room a moment in quest of Charlotte Anne, whom she wished to present to the gentlemen, came back in time to hear my reply, and began at once to protest. “For the land’s sake, Miss Bennett, you don’t mean you are goin’ out in the damp, with your digester. You’ll catch your never-get-over. You’d better let the young folks go alone, though I warn them there’s a heavy dew and they’ll get wet as sop.” “I’ll wrap this around me,” I said, throwing a knitted shawl over my shoulders, while Rena took her hat and jacket. Irene declined Mrs. Parks’ offer of her cape. “I never take cold,” she said, “nor need any one unless she chooses. There’s no such thing as a cold. It’s only a mortal belief.” “Oh, ho! Christian Science, are you? The last thing I heard, your fad was Theosophy,” Tom said, “and the getting into an occult body.” Reginald looked alarmed. What if Irene should take to Theosophy, and Christian Science and Spiritualism, and all the other isms of the day! He believed he should follow Nannie into the well, or do something desperate. Well, he needn’t be in a hurry. The will distinctly gave them time to know their own minds, and he meant to know his before he made the plunge either into the well or into matrimony, or hinted at the will to Irene, or any one. As we left the house by the front door Lottie entered it by the back door, and I caught sight of Sam vaulting over a low part of the board fence which divided his father’s premises from Mrs. Parks’. They had just returned from the grove to which we were going, I in advance, as I knew the way, Tom and Rena behind me, he with his hand on her arm and talking to her in tones I could not understand. At a little distance from them were Reginald and Irene. There was no lagging on his part now. He was trying to keep up with us while Irene was evidently trying to hold him back. The opportunity was favorable for a tête-à-tête and she meant to have it, if possible. Reginald, on the contrary, did not seem disposed for it. Once as Irene stumbled over a stone it occurred to him that he ought to offer his arm. He could not remember when he had offered it to a girl; never, he believed, but he must do it now, especially as Irene again struck a small stone in the path and exclaimed against it. “Take my arm,” he said; “the road seems rough.” “No, thanks,” Irene answered. “I must have both my hands at liberty to hold my dress and keep it from being draggled. I had no idea the grass was so wet, or I would not have worn these thin boots. They are drenched already, and if you do not mind waiting I’ll run back and change them for something thicker. It will not take me long.” “Certainly not,” Reginald replied. “Let me walk back with you, or can I go for you?”