CHAPTER XIDRIFTING
The next morning Tom came to the farmhouse and sat with Rena under the great tree in Mrs. Parks’ yard. Irene was not feeling quite well, and kept her room, leaving Rena alone with Tom. There had been a few words between herself and Rena with, regard to the deception which the latter wished to end and Irene had met the proposal with an insinuation that it looked very much as if Rena was jealous of the attentions paid to her by Mr. McPherson and wished to transfer them to herself. Rena was silenced but not convinced, and when alone with Tom she opened her heart to him and asked what she ought to do!
“Do you think you could care for Rex?” Tom asked, a great gulp in his throat as he thought of the possibility.
“Not the way you mean,” Rena answered; “but I wish you would tell him I am the Irene meant in the will, but can never care for him except as a friend; then, everything will be honest and fair, andwe can have such a good time. I am miserable now. Will you tell him?”
She put her hand on Tom’s, and he felt every nerve quiver from the touch of her fingers. Just for a moment he did not speak, while many conflicting thoughts ran through his mind. Rex ought to be told, but he had seen that in his friend which warned him of danger. Once let him know the truth and he would turn to Rena, first as a duty, perhaps, and then for the girl herself, while she—He was not quite so sure what she might do under pressure, she was so impulsive, and he could not lose her now.
“Rena,” he said at last, “let it drift for a while now we are in it. Rex has taken Irene for you without asking a question. If he speaks to me of the will I shall tell him the truth. Until he does better let him alone unless you think you might care for him. You are sure you could not?”
“Only as a friend,” Rena replied, while for a moment there was silence between them.
Then, taking her hand, Tom said:
“Is there any one you could care for—me, for instance?”
There was a look in Rena’s eyes like a startled fawn as she raised them to Tom’s face, and her lips quivered as if she were about to cry.
“O Tom!” she said, “don’t ask me now. Everythingis so mixed and wrong. I don’t know what I want or who I am exactly. Wait ever so long, and maybe I shall know.”
“I’ll wait for years,” Tom answered, with a heaving of his broad chest and a feeling that Rena was as absolutely his as if her word had been pledged to him.
After that it seemed easier to tell Rex.
“Let him give me his confidence and my way will be clear,” Tom thought; and as just then Irene appeared in the door and came toward them the conversation between him and Rena ceased. After that matters drifted as matters usually do where four young people are concerned, two as good as engaged, one trying her best to be engaged, and the other not knowing what he wanted or ought to do. There were drives along the pleasant country roads, rambles in the woods, calls at Mrs. Parks’, and five o’clock teas at the McPherson place, where Irene was looked upon by Colin as the future mistress of the house. Greatly to the disgust of the old man, Reginald gave no special sign of coming to the point. He was very polite to Irene, who in all the drives and rambles fell to him naturally, and was never more fascinating and womanly than now when trying her best to enslave him. Sometimes she thought she gained a little, especially as he consulted her oncewith regard to some change Colin thought of making in the greenhouse, and again about the removal of a tree which obstructed the view from the window of his room. As a whole, however, he was always a quiet, reserved and taciturn man, following obediently where she led and leaving the most of the talking to her. No allusion to the will was ever made, nor did she mean there should be for the present, if she could help it.
“If he does speak of it I must either tell the truth, or feign entire ignorance, and so exonerate myself from all blame, trusting that neither Rena nor Tom will betray me,” she thought, and with this conclusion she kept steadily on, bending every energy and every art to the accomplishment of her purpose.
Just what Rex thought of her he hardly knew himself. He was far more at ease with her now than he had been at first. Once he had perpetrated some joke upon her, and once when a hairpin had fallen from her heavy braids, he had picked it up and rather awkwardly fastened it in its place, making some remark as he did so about the quality and quantity of her hair and asking her how long it was.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, putting her hands to her head to see if her false braids were in placeand wondering what he would say if he knew how much she took off at night.
Three or four times the young ladies had tried the sea-bathing near the McPherson bath-house, but the surf was so heavy and the undertow so strong that they never ventured far out unless Tom or Rex were near them. One day, however, Irene, who was somewhat daring and liked to show her skill, went out so far that the strong out-going tide took her with it beyond her depth and was carrying her further and further away when Rex, who was near to her, heard her cry, “O Rex, save me!” and struck out swiftly for her. Exhausted and overcome with fright, she had sunk once before he reached her, but just as she was going down a second time he caught at the mop of hair and holding fast to it swam quickly to the shore where Tom and Rena, who had not been in the water, received her and took her to the bath-house. Returning to the beach Tom saw Reginald holding in his hand a thick braid of blonde hair at which he was looking curiously and turning it over as if greatly perplexed.
“Tom!” he gasped, “see what I have done, and she never gave a cry, although it must have hurt her fearfully. I don’t quite understand it.”
“Rex, are you an idiot, that you know nothing of false hair and girl’s toilets?” Tom said, as he tookthe braid and held it dripping with water before Rex, who gasped:
“You don’t mean it wasn’t growing there?”
“I don’t mean anything else,” Tom answered. “Do you suppose any girl could stand having her scalp pulled off and make no protest? You certainly are a fool!”
“Yes, I am; but how should I know?” Rex said, “I, who have no sisters nor mother nor near female relation, and have scarcely been near a girl until this summer. Do they all—does the little one wear false hair?”
“No, sir!” Tom answered promptly. “Many girls do wear it, though. There is no harm in it that I see. No girl has as much hair of her own as Irene wears. You might know that with half an eye; but come on and change your wet clothes, and not stand there staring at this hair as if it were a live thing.”
“Yes,” Rex stammered, “but what shall we do with it?”
“Do with it?” Tom repeated. “Give it to Irene, of course. It is valuable. False braids like this cost money.”
“But,” Rex began again. “Will she like to know that—that we know it? Won’t it mortify her? Hadn’t we better throw it into the sea and say nothing?That will save her feelings. She’ll think she lost it there.”
“Rex, you are a gentleman, if you don’t know anything! I should never have thought of sparing Irene that way,” Tom said, tossing the hair far out to meet an incoming wave which when it receded carried with it Irene’s heaviest and most expensive braid which had given way under Rex’s firm grasp.
“Yes, that’s better than telling her,” Rex said, standing a moment and watching the hair as it drifted further and further away until it was lost to view. “Yes, better be there than on her head; but I’ll confess I am surprised. I have a great deal to learn about girls. Yes, a great deal, and I don’t like it,” was the last Tom heard as they separated at the door of Rex’s bath-room.
When alone, Tom bent himself double to smother his laughter, while saying to himself:
“I’d like nothing better than to see Irene’s face when Rex gave her back her hair, if he had done so; but then I’m a brute and Rex is a gentleman through and through, but a good deal of a simpleton. I believe, though, I’d be as big a one, to have his kindness of heart and delicacy of feeling which prompted him not to mortify Irene needlessly.”
Meanwhile Irene had dried and dressed herself and was sitting out in the sunshine, with little thrillsof delight in her heart as she thought that Rex had saved her. Just how or where he had seized her she did not know, she was so frightened; by her arm, most likely, and she was waiting for him to appear and thinking what she should say to thank him, when Rena came to her side, bringing her hat and umbrella. In the excitement of caring for her cousin she had not noticed her hair, but she did now, and exclaimed:
“Irene, Irene, what has happened? Half your head is gone! Put up your hand and see.”
Irene sprang to her feet, put her hand to her head, and realized her loss, while like a flash came the thought, “Did he see it? Did he pull it off? Does he know?”
“Oh, heavens!” she said, sinking back to her seat. “I’ve lost my beautiful braid of hair, for which I gave so much. I must look like a guy. Do you think he saw it? Mr. Travers, I mean. I don’t care for Tom! Put on my hat, quick, before they come.”
She seemed in great distress, while Rena tried to comfort her, saying: “He must have pulled it off, but I would not care.”
“I think you look better without it, and at least two inches shorter.”
Irene was proud of her height and proud of her crown, and that was gone—where, she could notguess, but she hoped anywhere so that Reginald did not see it, though that was unlikely. She was a good deal upset and very nervous, and had intended to play the rôle of an invalid in order to have him go home with her, but she changed her mind, and when he appeared with Tom, he found her as erect as ever, declaring herself none the worse for her fright, and thanking him very graciously for coming to her aid, and saying she was beginning to see stars when he grasped her.
“You had a loud call, that’s a fact. Didn’t you lose your head, nor anything?” Tom asked, with a twinkle in his eyes which made Irene suspect at once.
“The wretch!” she thought. “I believe he knows something about it.” Then, with her ready tact, she replied, “I didn’t lose my head, but I did a switch which I sometimes wear. It was made from my hair cut when I had fever and it began to come out. Did you see it? It does not matter, though, for I only cared for it because it was a part of myself.”
Rena had never heard of the fever and looked astonished, while Tom whistled softly and turned away to keep from laughing. Reginald, however, felt relieved. In his ignorance of a lady’s toilet anything false struck him unpleasantly. He had heard of powder and paint and false hair, but had always associated them with actresses and second class people,and never with people like Irene, who might, perhaps, be his wife. This case, however, was different. The lost braid was a part of Irene. It had once grown on her head and not on that of some frowsy foreigner. He could forgive the falseness, especially as Irene had been so frank about it, but inwardly he was glad that the thing was riding the waves of the Atlantic. He was very attentive and insisted upon going home with her, and made her take his arm, as he was sure she must feel weak and the road was not very smooth, and he was so kind and thoughtful that Irene would have felt repaid for her fright, if it were not for the loss of her hair and wishing to know where it was. That troubled her, and when they reached the house and Reginald stepped into the garden to see a species of hibiscus just in blossom, of which Mrs. Parks was very proud, she turned to Tom and said:
“Where is my hair? I am sure you know by your looks. Is it in your pocket?”
“No, madam,” Tom answered, with a comical smile. “The last I saw it was drifting out to sea. It is miles away by this time, if some mermaid has not appropriated it.”