“The window is kept sacred to Nannie,” he said. “That low rocker was bought for her, but she never sat in it, nor saw it, nor the silver tea-set on the table by it—her work-table it was to be—nor the piano crosswise in the window. He had them all brought to his room after she died, and his two wives let him keep them here. The second one, though, put a curtain across the alcove to shut them off when she felt like it. Nobody ever sat in the chair, that I know, or used the tea-set, or touched the piano. That was Sandy’s fad. He said, though, that Rex’s wife might try it. Shall I open it?” He was standing by the spindle-legged instrument and Irene was close to him. Just what answer she would have given was prevented by Rena, who exclaimed: “No, oh, no, it would be sacrilege not to respect the dear old man’s wishes. How he must have loved poor Nannie.” There were tears in Rena’s eyes as she followed Colin to another part of the room, while he went on: “That was Sandy’s chair over by the desk where he wrote his will and that chair by the west window was his first wife’s, and that by the south window was his second wife’s—your great-grandmother, Miss Burdick. Sit down in it and see how you look!” “No!” Rena said again, grasping Irene’s arm as she was seating herself in the wooden rocking-chair, with its faded chintz-cover and frill. Irene stared at her impatiently; then catching Mr. McPherson’s look of inquiry, she said, with a laugh: “I believe Rena is superstitious about sitting in chairs which have not been used for so long.” “It isn’t that,” Rena answered. “I hardly know what it is. I want to get out of this room, which seems so full of the dead.” She was very white and Reginald, who was near her, said to her: “I think it is grewsome, too. Let’s go out.” He put his hand on her arm and led her into the hall, followed by the others, Mr. McPherson bringing up the rear with Irene. As he was a little deaf himself he always talked rather loud, and as they were going down the hall he said so distinctly that we all heard him: “It was Sandy’s wish that his room should be kept as it is. I hope Rex’s wife will respect his wishes. She can have any other room in the house.” What Irene’s answer was I could not hear, but that it was satisfactory was proven by Mr. McPherson’s hearty: “Thank you, I was sure you would feel that way.” Reginald, who still held Rena’s arm, clutched it so tight that she gave a little cry and wrenched herself from him. “I’ve hurt you,” he said, in great distress. “I am always doing something stupid. I am so sorry.” “It does not matter at all,” Rena replied. “Nothing matters but myself, Mr. Travers.” She was looking at him with such pleading in her eyes that he felt sure there was something the matter, and said to her in a voice she had never heard from him before: “What is it? Can I do anything for you?”