"Just say a friend wishes to see Miss Danton," was the answer.
That voice! Rose bounded from the sofa, her eyes wild, her lips apart. Her hand shook as she drew aside the curtain and looked out. A gentleman was there, but he sat with his back to her, and his figure was only partially revealed. Rose's heart beat in great plunges against her side, but she restrained herself and waited. Ten minutes, and 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 glacé, 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."