He smiled slightly. His masculine vanity was gratified by the irrepressible confession of her love for him.
"Not from you, my dear little Rose. To-morrow you will know all—where I am going, and who I am."
"Who you are! Are you not Mr. Reinecourt?"
"Certainly!" half laughing. "But that is rather barren information, is it not? Can you wait until to-morrow?"
His smile, the clasp in which he held her hand, reassured her.
"Oh, yes," she said, drawing a long breath, "I can wait!"
That day—Rose remembered it afterward—he stood holding her hands a long time at parting.
"You will go! What a hurry you are always in," he said.
"A hurry!" echoed Rose. "I have been here three hours. I should have gone long ago. Don't detain me; good-bye!"
"Good-bye, my Rose, my dear little nurse! Good-bye until we meet again."