"Used to be!" Rose echoed; and then her voice failed her. All her love and her wounded pride rose in her throat and choked her.
Reginald Stanford drew her closer to him, and tried to see the averted face.
"Won't you forgive me, Rose? I didn't behave well, I know; but I liked you so much. Won't you forgive me?"
A passionate outburst of tears, that would no longer be restrained, answered him.
"Oh! how could you do it? How could you do it? How could you deceive me so?" sobbed Rose.
Stanford drew her closer still.
"Deceive you, my darling! How did I deceive you? Tell me, Rose, and don't cry!"
"You said—you said your name was Reinecourt, and it wasn't; and I didn't know you were Kate's lover, or I never would have—would have—oh! how could you do it?"
"My dear little girl, I told you the truth. My name is Reinecourt."
Rose looked up indignantly.