The consciousness of the part she was acting kept Irene silent, while Mr. McPherson went on: “You don’t look like her, as I see, nor like Nannie, either, though Sandy said you did. He saw you on the beach, you know. You don’t remember him, of course.” Irene still kept silent, while Colin continued: “Your cousin is more like Nannie. The eyes are much the same,” he added, as he turned to Rena, who was gazing into Nannie’s beautiful eyes, which seemed to smile a recognition upon her. “You are like her,” Reginald said, coming to Rena’s side and looking at her so earnestly that she found herself blushing, and moved nearer to Tom. She, too, was feeling uncomfortable, and wishing more and more that she had never entered into the deception. “I can’t tell now,” she thought. “I must wait and consult Tom. I wonder how Irene can seem so composed.” Irene had recovered from her little pricks of conscience, and was looking quite unmoved at the portrait supposed to be her great-grandmother’s and listening to Mr. McPherson’s question as to what her maiden name was. “My memory is so bad it has slipped my mind,” he said. Irene had forgotten, too, if she ever knew, which was doubtful, she said, as she feared she had not been as anxious about her pedigree as she ought to be. Then, lest she should be asked more troublesome questions, she turned from the portraits to other pictures in the room, the originals of some of which she had seen abroad and about which she could talk fluently. “Perhaps you’d like to see the rest of the house?” Mr. McPherson said to her at last, as if she were the only one present interested in it. If she were to live there, or spend her summers there, she must be glad to see her future home, and he led the way through the rooms of the first floor, and then to the second, where he stopped at the door of a large, airy chamber, with a fine outlook over the grounds and down to the sea. “This was Sandy’s room,” he said. “Here he sat a great deal with his two wives, both of whom died in that bed,” and he pointed to a high poster, with a lace canopy over it. “His first died on the right side, and his second on the left, he told me. Sandy died in it, too,” he added, very reverently; while Irene stood with her head a little bent and eyes cast down, like one praying, while in reality she was trying to repress a smile at the idea of Mrs. McPherson the first dying on the right side of the bed, and Mrs. McPherson the second on the left, and Sandy probably in the middle, she thought. Tom was thinking the same and whispering it to Rena, when Colin pointed to the large bay window at the extremity of the long room.