there was the
rustle of a dress; Kate entered the room. The gentleman arose, there was
a cry of "Reginald!" and then Kate was clasped in the stranger's arms.
Rose could see his face now; no need to look twice to recognize Mr.
Reinecourt.

The curtain dropped from Rose's hand, she stood still, breath coming and
going in gasps. She saw it all as by an electric light--Mr. Reinecourt
was Kate's betrothed husband, Reginald Stanford. He had known her from
the first; from the first he had coolly and systematically deceived her.
He knew that she loved him--he must know it--and had gone on fooling her
to the top of his bent. Perhaps he and Kate would laugh over it together
before the day was done. Rose clenched her hands, and her eyes flashed
at the thought. Back came the colour to her cheeks, back the light to
her eyes; anger for the moment quenched every spark of love. Some of the
old Danton pluck was in her, after all. No despair now, no lying on sofa
cushions any more in helpless woe.

"How dared he do it--how dared he?" she thought "knowing me to be Kate's
sister. I hate him! oh, I hate him!"

And here Rose broke down, and finding the hysterics would come, fled
away to her room, and cried vindictively for two hours.

She got up at last, sullen and composed. Her mind was made up. She would
show Mr. Reinecourt (Mr. Reinecourt indeed)! how much she cared for him.
He should see the freezing indifference with which she could treat him;
he should see she was not to be fooled with impunity.

Rose bathed her flushed and tear-stained face until every trace of the
hysterics was gone, called Agnes Darling to curl her hair and dress her
in a new blue glace, in which she looked lovely. Then, with a glow like
fever on her cheeks, a fire like fever in her eyes, she went down
stairs. In the hall she met Eeny.

"Oh, Rose! I was just going up to your room. Kate wants you."

"Does she? What for?"

"Mr. Stanford has come. He is with her in the drawing-room; and, Rose,
he is the handsomest man I ever saw."

Rose shook back her curls disdainfully, and descended to the
drawing-room. _A la princesse_ she sailed in, and saw the late M.
Reinecourt seated by the window, Kate beside him, with, oh, such a happy
face! She arose at her sister's entrance, a smile of infinite content on
her face.

"Reginald, my sister Rose. Rose, Mr. Stanford."

Rose made the most graceful bow that ever was seen, not the faintest
sign of recognition in her fa