But now he owned it. He was not Archibald Sherbrooke at all; he was the titled peer, and he had sought to win her love under false colors; and all the pain, and bitterness, and scorn returned, even while she waited breathlessly for his answer. “Yes, I am Lord Carrol, of Carrolton; but, Star——” “That is enough; I want to hear no more,” she said, stopping him with an authoritative gesture of her white hand. “I will not listen to another word from your traitorous lips!” She turned proudly from him and would have left him, but he sprang forward and seized her hands. They were cold as ice and shaking as with palsy, and he was shocked by the hopelessness visible in her face as he looked down upon it. “Star, my darling,” he began, in a voice that was almost stern from emotion; “you _shall_ listen to me. It is my right to be heard, and I can explain everything to you if you will but give me the opportunity.” But she would not. Pain, despair, outraged pride and affection made her unreasonable and almost insane. She flashed a haughty glance up at him. “Lord Carrol,” she said, in her iciest tones, “release my hands, if you please.” He dropped them as if they had been coals of fire, and drew back a pace or two from her, deeply wounded, while his own face was nearly as white and pained as hers. “Star, you are wronging me more than you dream. Surely you will listen to my defense,” he said, and his voice trembled with suppressed feeling. Oh, how she longed to yield and allow him to win her back; how she longed to let him take her into his strong arms, and hear him murmur again those tender words such as he had spoken to her so recently; but, remembering his attentions to Josephine last night, her looks of affection and pride, her bright face and happy laugh—remembering what she had heard regarding his devotion to her at Long Branch, and the reason that had been given for his coming there to her home, she could not. He had played the role of rich lover to the proud heiress; he had acted that of a poor sweetheart with her; for had he not told her he was an artist, but _hoped_ to be able to take care of her, so that she need never know the meaning of the words poor and dependent again; and now, with all this evidence before her, how could she help believing him false to the core—to have simply amused himself at her expense? “You can have no defense to offer me, and I will hear nothing,” she returned, coldly. “You have deceived me most cruelly; you came to me as Archibald Sherbrooke; you used all your powers of fascination to make me love you as a poor artist, while you had already played the part of a rich lover in a different character at a fashionable watering-place. I congratulate you upon your marvelous success as an actor, my lord,” she concluded, with scathing sarcasm. A deep sigh broke from him; her words hurt him keenly, for he was very proud.