CHAPTER XXI

REX’S EXPERIMENT

Rex was very weak but his mind was clear. The eye was gone, and if he remembered it he never spoke of it, but lay very quiet and seemed very happy when Rena was with him, as she was every day. He never mentioned Irene, but Rena told him at last of Johnnie’s death, and gave him Irene’s note, which he read and then put under his pillow, saying: “I am sorry for her, and there’s nothing to forgive. Tell her so when you write.”

That was all, and Tom felt sure that the chapter of Rex’s life as connected with Irene was closed. “But she will try to reopen it,” he said to Rena. “She’ll be coming here. You’ll see.”

This seemed probable, inasmuch as her trunks were still at Mrs. Parks’, and one day when Rex was able to sit up in bed for an hour or so, Rena received a letter from her saying that her mother was better and she was coming to Oakfield very soon. As Rex had not spoken of her since he received her note, it was with some hesitancy that Rena told him of her intended visit. He was very bright that morning, and was sitting up in bed with his dressing-gown on and with a look of expectation on his face as he waited for Rena, who was later than usual.

“Hallo!” he said, when she came in, “I began to think my head nurse had struck.”

“No danger of that,” she replied, “I went with Tom to the grove and the well. It is covered with boards now, so no one can look in it.”

At the mention of the well Rex’s face clouded and his voice was not quite natural as he said, “I was foolish enough to look in it, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” Rena answered, “and Irene played you a joke, just as Tom did me, and Sam did Lottie. There’s a great temptation to do it, I think.”

She was speaking for Irene, trying to excuse her, but Rex’s face was still clouded, and he winked hard as for a moment the eye danced around the room and finally alighted on Rena’s hair. With a quick movement he brushed it off, letting his hand linger a moment on the brown head with a loving pressure.

“It’s gone, and Richard is himself again,” he said, with a smile, while Rena, guessing what he meant, replied: “Yes, and very soon you will see the original—the beautiful eyes themselves—for Irene is coming.”

Instantly Rex’s face was white as the pillow behind him. Then the pallor passed as he asked, “Is she coming to stay?”

“Oh, no,” Rena replied. “She can’t do that. She is coming for her trunks and to see us and you. She is very anxious about you.”

“She is very kind,” Rex said faintly, then added, quickly, “Will her coming keep you from me?”

“No,” Rena answered. “We shall both be here a great deal. You will be glad to see her?”

For a moment Rex did not reply, then he said: “Ye-es, but the doctor says I must not see people yet.”

“I know, but Irene will not tire you,” Rena replied, at a loss to understand his evident shrinking from seeing Irene.

She did not stay long that morning, for she was to take a drive with Tom, and Rex did not try to detain her. He wanted to be alone, and after she was gone he lay so still with his eyes closed that I thought he was asleep. Rousing up at last he said, “Send Mr. McPherson to me, please.”

Colin came at once, and for a time I heard the two voices in low and earnest consultation. Then Colin come out, and, going to his own rooms, where his papers were kept, selected one, which he took to Rex. It was a copy of Sandy McPherson’s will, which Rex read carefully, while in his heart there was an indescribable regret and longing for what he knew could never be. He had said often to himself that he was not like other men; that no woman, however fair she might be, could create in him a desire to possess her. He could respect and admire, but love her, never! And he did not quite understand this new sensation confronting him with both pain and happiness—happiness as he recalled the face which had bent over him so often when his fever was at its height, and pain when he said to himself: “It never could have been, for there is nothing in me to attract a bright spirit like hers even if there were no Tom. But she shall not be the loser pecuniarily, if I can help it,” and he laughed as he thought of his experiment which was to benefit Tom and Rena. He had talked it over with Colin and asked for a copy of the will, which, after reading two or three times, he put under his pillow, while he thought it out.

“I’ll do it,” he said, “but I’ll tell Tom first.”

With his mind made up, he waited impatiently for Tom, who came fresh and breezy and seeming very happy. After some demur Rena had promised to marry him at Christmas time if her aunt were willing and some investments recently made turned out well, “for we shall want a lot of money,” she said.

“Bother the investments,” Tom had replied. “I don’t intend to touch a penny of your money. We will let that rest for the rainy day, or our old age. I want to do everything myself. We can’t, of course, set up housekeeping very steep at first, and not at all like what you are accustomed to with your Aunt Mary, but I know a pretty little flat of six or seven rooms on a pleasant street in Newton which will come within my means, and where I think we can be very happy till I can afford something bigger and better—a house of our own, with garden and grounds.”

Rena had always said she detested a flat, and should smother in one, but Tom’s arm was around her as they drove through the woods, and he talked of the cozy little rooms and the dear little wife waiting to meet him when his day’s work was done, and asked if she could bear it. She was very frank, and answered, “I hate flats as a rule. Your mother’s house—the first I remember—was big, and Aunt Mary’s is, also, but I can be happy anywhere with you, only we must sometime have the big house and the garden, not right in the city, but outside, where there is room to spread and breathe, and keep hens if we want to. I dote on little chickens.”

Tom promised, but thought his clients must be more numerous than they were at present before that consummation of her wishes. And so the matter was settled, and Tom was radiant when he went in to Rex, who startled him by asking:

“How is your business?”

“Fair, but not as good as I wish it were,” Tom said, thinking of the inexpensive flat in which he and Rena were to live.

Rex nodded and said next:

“You still expect to marry Rena?”

“Certainly,” Tom answered. “We settled everything this morning. We shall be married at Christmas and live in a flat, where the dining-room is not much larger than that great round mahogany table in your Richmond home.”

“Oh,” Rex said, with a gesture of dissent, “Rena is too airy a bird to be caged up like that with Tom, Dick and Harry above and below her and only Tom with her.”

He laughed a little at his own joke, and then went on: “She has money?”

“Yes, some, and might have had more if she had not spent it so lavishly, but I shall not touch it. I prefer to take care of my wife myself,” Tom answered proudly.

“Good for you,” Rex replied, and was silent for a moment. Then he burst out abruptly.

“You and Rena have tried your experiment on me, and it came near being my death. Miss Bennett says I was very ill at one time, but all I can remember is that eye, or rather the _eyes_, which bothered me so, making me dizzy and nauseated and wild. You have no idea how they made me shiver and sweat and crawl. You know what I did and saw at the well, and I am so stupid I never dreamed it was a joke till Sam told me she was looking over my shoulder. The fever was coming on, of course, but the shock made it worse, and I’ve had a hard time, but I am better now, and am going to try an experiment on you, or rather on Rena. I am going to propose to her!”

“Great Heavens! Are you crazy?” Tom exclaimed, with a feeling as if Rex had struck him.

“Perhaps,” Rex answered. “At all events, I am a different man from what I was before this illness. Something has wrought a change in me. You know how afraid I used to be of women, and how I shrank from talking to—to—Miss Irene, and how you used to call me a fool, as I was, and may be yet, but somehow the fear of a woman’s dress is gone. Perhaps it was having Miss Bennett potter round me so much, and perhaps it was the touch of Rena’s hands which brought such cooling with them. Don’t look so savage. You owe me something for the trick you played on me,” he continued, as Tom’s brows knitted together in a frown. “I am going to be frank and tell you that if I had felt as I do now when I first met Rena and had known the truth, I believe I should have contended even against you, my best friend. But I didn’t know. I thought the other was the one, and you did not undeceive me.”

“I know it and am ashamed of it,” Tom interrupted. “I was a villain, but I had sworn to tell you when I came back, and Irene knew it.”

“It does not matter now,” Rex said. “I was mistaken, and I tried religiously to manufacture a love for Irene, but I failed dismally. Still I believe I should have made the leap if something had not happened to open my eyes. Rena is the real one, and if I know how a fellow feels when he is in love, I am in love with her and am going to tell her so. Hold on, don’t get excited, but hear me out!” he continued, as Tom sprang up, exclaiming:

“This is too much, even from you. Why, she belongs to me.”

“That may be, but I shall propose to her just the same,” Rex said, adding, as Tom began to pace the room hurriedly:

“Do you know the conditions of Sandy McPherson’s will?”

“I should think so. I have heard them often enough,” Tom growled, and Rex went on:

“Then as a lawyer will you tell me what is to be done with that hundred thousand dollars if Rena marries you without my ever having said a word to her on the subject of matrimony?”

“It will go to thunder for what I care,” Tom replied, still excited and impatient.

“But I care,” Rex rejoined, “I have not a superabundance of money and would not object to a little of Sandy’s, especially as Colin is willing. So I shall propose to Rena, and if she refuses me I get the eighty thousand and Rena gets twenty thousand. That is plain without a lawyer, if I understand the will. If we are indifferent to each other we get ten thousand apiece and the rest goes to the South Sea Islanders, or somewhere. I’ve been reading the will over and am posted, and do not intend to let all that money slip through my fingers. Do you see?”

Tom had stopped walking and with his hands jammed into his pockets stood looking at Rex, wondering if he really were in his right mind. It was certainly a very different Rex from the one he had known. He must have met with a change, and Tom doubted if the change had improved him.

“Would you like to read the will?” Rex asked, taking it from under his pillow.

Tom shook his head and said:

“Do you expect Rena to accept you?”

“Why, no, of course not,” Rex answered. “But I shall give her a chance to decline. I can’t earn eighty thousand dollars easier.”

He certainly was demented, with a different kind of craziness from that which had affected him when his fever was on and the eye was after him, and Tom felt disturbed and indignant that Rena was to be made a tool by which Rex was to achieve a fortune, and he said so in plain language, adding that he never thought Rex would do so ungentlemanly a thing, and he did not like it.

Rex laughed good-humoredly and suggested that he had been made a dupe, if not a tool, and turn about was fair play.

“That may be, but I wouldn’t insult Rena, and make her the cat’s paw by which you are to get a fortune. I’d like eighty thousand dollars myself, but I would not hurt Rena’s feelings to get it. No, I wouldn’t!” Tom said, leaving the room and banging the door, while Rex chuckled over what he called his experiment, and read the will again.

Tom’s first impulse was to tell Rena and bid her keep away from Rex till his crazy fancy left him; then the ridiculousness of the affair struck him and he concluded to let matters take their course, knowing she would refuse and thinking it would amuse him to know what Rex said to her and what she said to him. He did not like to quarrel with Rex, who certainly was a little off, and then he had been outrageously fooled, and if it was any satisfaction for him to propose to Rena and be rejected, let him do it and get the money. He deserved something for the way he had been treated. This was Tom’s decision, and he began to look forward with some interest to the result of Rex’s experiment.

The next morning when Rena came and went into Rex’s room, Tom, who was there, made some excuse for going out, and the two were left alone. Rex was propped up on cushions and pillows and Rena sat in a low chair beside him where he could look into her face, which never seemed fairer and sweeter than it did now, awakening in him so keen a regret that she was not for him, that for a few moments he felt that if there were a shadow of a chance to win her he would take that chance and prove a traitor to Tom. She had gathered some wild flowers on her way through the fields and as she gave them to him he held her hand in a firm grasp and said:

“Rena.”

He had called her so in his illness, but never just as he did now, and Rena flushed a little and tried to take her hand from his. But he held it fast and went on:

“What would you do if I told you that I loved you?”

“I should say you were crazy, and go straight and tell Tom,” was Rena’s answer.

“Of course you’d tell Tom,” Rex said. “I’ve told him.”

“Told him that you loved me, and he let you!” Rena exclaimed, releasing herself from his grasp and springing to her feet and trembling like a scared bird ready for flight.

“Sit down and hear me out,” Rex said, and Rena sat down, wondering at herself for obeying him, and at his manner which compelled obedience.

“Yes, I told Tom,” he continued. “I mean to do things fairly, and now I tell you that if I know what love means I love you.”

“I’ll not sit here to listen to such insanity. I’ll call Miss Bennett, or Tom, or both,” Rena said, starting again to rise, but Rex’s imperative “Sit still,” kept her quiet, while he went on:

“I am an awkward man as you know, and in nothing more so than in lovemaking, the last thing in the world I once thought I should have attempted. Uncle Colin tried to coach me when I was laboring under a mistake and thought I ought to make love to some one else. He said I must ask the girl if her pulse beat in unison with mine.”

“Mine don’t! I can tell you that,” Rena interrupted him, while he laughed and still held her with something in his eyes she could not resist.

“No,” he said, I suppose not. I did not think they did; “but pulse or no pulse, I offer you my heart and hand—not exactly in Tom’s language, perhaps——”

“I should think not! Tom’s language, indeed!” and Rena smiled scornfully, as she mentally contrasted this phase of lovemaking with Tom’s.

Rex certainly was crazy again, and beyond her control. Indeed, his was the controlling influence now, rather than hers; and she felt a little afraid of him, but sat still, while with an eloquence for which she had never given him credit, and which surprised himself, he told her that if he knew what love was he loved her, and had he known who she was when he first met her his heart would have gone out to her as it did now, and that in spite of a hundred Toms he asked her to be his wife. She would probably refuse, but he had done his duty.

“Duty!” Rena repeated. “You are a fine man to talk of duty! What of Irene, and her pulse? Did you ever ask how that beat?”

“No,” Rex said, while a shadow passed over his face. “I’d rather not discuss Irene except to say I never asked her to be my wife as I have you; and you won’t?”

“No, I won’t, and I am going now to tell Tom,” Rena replied, her eyes filling with tears.

This time Rex did not try to detain her, as she left him without a word and went in quest of Tom, whom she could not find. So she started home, feeling very hot and indignant and finally ending in a cry when alone in her room.

Meanwhile Tom, who had been in the stables when Rena was looking for him, had returned to Rex, whom he found with a look on his face such as an accepted lover might have worn. He had the copy of the will in his hand when Tom entered and said rather brusquely:

“Well, did you propose?”

“I did!”

“What did she say?”

“She said no, and threatened to tell you, and was pretty mad, but I’ve done my duty, and according to the terms of the will, I am entitled to eighty thousand dollars. Isn’t that so?”

If he had not been Rex, Tom felt that he should have hated him for this sudden manifestation of greed, but he was Rex, and something in his eyes gave the lie to his words, as he went on rapidly:

“As soon as I am able I shall have the matter attended to by some competent lawyer—not you, who might demur—but some one who will make things straight and see that I rightfully get my eighty thousand, which will be mine to do with as I please, won’t it?”

“Yes,” Tom said, a glimmering of the truth beginning to dawn upon him, making him ashamed that for a moment he had distrusted Rex, who continued:

“Then if I please to give the most of it to Rena, she can’t help herself, can she?”

“Rex,” Tom exclaimed. “You must not do this. Rena will not let you, neither will I.”

“I don’t see how you can help it,” Rex replied. “It will be her wedding-present, and keep her from that miserable little flat you talk of. You and Rena in a flat! No, sir! You are to have a handsome suburban villa, with grounds and garden, where I can visit you occasionally. I hate flats, and climbing stairs, and so will Rena. I thought it out and talked with Uncle Colin before I spoke to Rena, and you are to come here whenever you like and Rena is to be mistress, just as Sandy meant her to be. It is all fixed, and you needn’t kick. I’ve tried my experiment, and it worked beautifully. I was in earnest, too, I am sure I love the girl, if, as Uncle Colin says, love consists in a kind of all-over feeling when you touch her hand or look at her, and if it were not for you I’d win her, too. As it is, I give her up, but I’ll have my revenge in my own way. What have you to say about it?”

Tom had a good deal to say, but nothing moved Rex, who insisted that he could and should do what he liked with his own, when it was his, and as he was getting very tired, Tom gave up the contest and went to see Rena, whom he found tear-stained and indignant, nearly as much with him as with Rex.

Mr. Travers had proposed, she said, and Tom knew he was going to and had let him, and if Irene were not coming she’d go home that day, and she didn’t care, so there!

Tom listened and laughed and tried to soothe her and explain as far as possible without giving Rex away.

“He certainly is a little off,” he said, “and if he wanted to try his luck with you why shouldn’t I let him, feeling sure of you, as I am? And then I was curious to know what a matter-of-fact chap like him, who used to shiver at the sight of a girl, would say. What did he?”

“He talked about my pulse beating in unison with his, and a lot more ridiculous stuff, not at all like you,” Rena replied, beginning to feel her anger melt away as Tom kissed her flushed face and told her not to mind the vagaries of a crazy man, but adding, “I guess I wouldn’t go near him again till Irene comes.”