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He pictured Lord March's friend, the Rena, and found this girl immeasurably before her. He painted the sensation she would make and the fashion he could give her, and vowed that she was a Gunning with sense and wit added; to sum up all, he blamed himself for a saint and a Scipio.
How many girls do you suppose have believed that were justified in believing he meant anything by his attractive manner and nice ways of telling you how much he liked you? He had a desperate affair with Mrs. Mortimer innocent enough I fancy. He's had a dozen within three years; and in a week Rena Bonnesdel has come to making eyes at him, and Eileen gives him no end of chances which he doesn't see.
There was an antique theatre at Trieste also; its shape only can be traced, though the name of the street is still "Rena Vecchia." S. Hermagoras is said to have planted a church here about 50 A.D., by means of missionaries sent from Aquileia. S. Giusto, one of the patron saints of the city, probably died about 303.
"Miss Warwick Rowena," he said, clasping with his right hand the hand that rested on his left arm, "I love you! Do you love me?" To Rena this simple avowal came with much greater force than a more formal declaration could have had. It appealed to her own simple nature. Indeed, few women at such a moment criticise the form in which the most fateful words of life but one are spoken.
Even if Rena were willing to risk her happiness, and he to endanger his position, by a quixotic frankness, the future of his child must not be compromised. "You wouldn't want to make George unhappy," Warwick resumed when the nurse retired. "Very well; would you not be willing, for his sake, to keep a secret your secret and mine, and that of the innocent child in your arms?
"Well, mother, I've taken a man's chance in life, and have tried to make the most of it; and I haven't felt under any obligation to spoil it by raking up old stories that are best forgotten. There are the dear old books: have they been read since I went away?" "No, honey, there's be'n nobody to read 'em, excep' Rena, an' she don't take to books quite like you did.
She was not fair, and she was not Rena. When Tryon came up to her, she was sitting on the doorsill of a miserable cabin, and held in her hand a bottle, the contents of which had never paid any revenue tax.
Their destination was a day's drive from Clarence, behind a good horse, and the trial was expected to last a week. "This week will seem like a year," said Tryon ruefully, the evening before their departure, "but I'll write every day, and shall expect a letter as often." "The mail goes only twice a week, George," replied Rena. "Then I shall have three letters in each mail."
He might have gone anywhere with me, and no one would have stared at us curiously; no one need have known. The world is wide there must be some place where a man could live happily with the woman he loved." "Yes, Rena, there is; and the world is wide enough for you to get along without Tryon." "For a day or two," she went on, "I hoped he might come back.
Soon after she came down, her mother said, "Rena, sing us one of the nice German songs Mr. Brent learned you once. Sing the one about the lady that set up on the high rock an' combed her hair with a golden comb. What did they call her still? 'De Lower Liar'?"
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