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By-the-by, it is very fatiguing to read lying down; won't you read to me?" "I can't read. I mean I can't read aloud." "Let me be the judge of that. Let me see read 'Maud." Rose began and did her best, and read until she was tired. Mr. Reinecourt watched her all the while as she sat beside him.
Reinecourt haunted her awake, Mr. Reinecourt haunted her asleep. What was the eventful morrow to reveal? Would he tell her he loved her? Would he ask her to be his wife? Did he care for her, or did he mean nothing after all? No thought of Jules La Touche came to disturb her as she drifted off into delicious memories of the past and ecstatic dreams of the future.
Reinecourt said to her one day, "you vindicate your sex; you are free from the vice of curiosity. You ask no questions, and, except my name, you know nothing of me." "Well, Mr. Reinecourt, whose fault is that?" "Do you want to know?" Rose looked at him, then away. Somehow of late she had grown strangely shy. "If you like to tell me." "My humble little Rose! Yes, I will tell you.
No thought of the promise she had given, no remorse at her own falsity, troubled her easy conscience. What did she care for Jules La Touche? What was he beside this splendid Mr. Reinecourt? She thought of him when she thought of him at all with angry impatience, and she drew his ring off her finger and flung it across the room.
Reinecourt," said Rose, giving him hers willingly enough, though. "And you really must leave me?" "I really must." "But you will come to-morrow?" still holding her hand. "Perhaps so if I have nothing better to do." "You cannot do anything better than visit the sick, and oh, yes! do me another favour. Fetch me some books to read to pass the dismal hours of your absence."
I write by this post to our good landlady, inclosing the next six months' rent, and in this you will find a check for all present wants. "I believe this is all I have to say, and Adèle is waiting for me to escort her on a shopping expedition. Adieu, my Rose; believe me, with the best wishes for your future happiness, to be Ever your friend, "Reginald Reinecourt Stanford."
"Reginald Reinecourt Stanford is my name; and the reason I only gave you a third of it was, as I said before, because I liked you so much. You know, my dear little Rose, if I had told you that day on the ice my name was Reginald Stanford, you would have gone straight to the Hall, told the news, and had me brought here at once. By that proceeding I should have seen very little of you, of course.
Reinecourt; only I wish you had not sprained your ankle doing it." "I don't regret it. But you are under an obligation to me, are you not?" "Certainly." "Then I mean to have a return for what you owe me. I want you to come and see me every day until I get well." Rose blushed vividly. "Oh, I don't know. You exact too much!" "Not a whit.
She arose precipitately, and stood looking out of the window, while the Doctor attended to the sprain. Nearly half an hour passed. The ankle was duly bathed and bandaged, then old Jacques and the Doctor went away, and she came over and looked laughingly down at the invalid, a world of coquettish daring in her dancing eyes. "Well, M. Reinecourt, when does M. le Médecin say you are going to die?"
Has she fallen in love, I wonder? Not likely, I should think; and yet " He walked off, revolving the question, to the house, while Rose was rapidly shortening the distance between herself and her beloved. Old Jacques was leaning over the gate as she rode up, and took off his hat with Canadian courtesy to the young lady. "Is Mr. Reinecourt in, Mr. Jacques?" asked Rose, preparing to dismount.
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