say t' yer! You never have a word fer me--think o' that! An' think o' all th' time yer waste on Bennie--an' him too young t' know a pretty girl when he sees one!"

Rose-Marie flushed and hated herself for doing it. "We'll leave personalities out of this!" she said primly.

Jim was laughing, but there was a sinister note in his mirth.

"Not much we won't!" he told her. "I like you--see? You're th' best lookin' girl in this neck o' woods--even if you do live at the Settlement House! If you'd learn to dress more snappy--t' care more about hats than yer do about Bible Cla.s.ses--you'd make a big hit when yer walked out on Delancy Street. There ain't a feller livin' as wouldn't turn t' look at yer--not one! Say, kid," he leaned still closer, "I'm strong fer yer when yer cheeks get all pink-like. I'm strong fer yer any time a-tall!"

Rose-Marie was more genuinely shocked than she had ever been in her life.

The flush receded slowly from her face.

"You'd like me to be more interested in clothes than in Bible Cla.s.ses!"

she said slowly. "You'd like me to go parading down Delancy Street ..."

she paused, and then--"You're a fine sort of a man," she said bitterly--"a fine sort of a man! Oh, I know. I know the sort of people you introduce to Ella--and she's your sister. I've seen the way you look at Lily, and she's your sister, too! You wouldn't think of making things easier for your mother; and you'd give Bennie a push down--instead of a boost _up_! And you scoff at your father--lying dead in his coffin!

You're a fine sort of a _man_.... I don't believe that you've a shred of human affection in your whole make-up!"

Jim had risen slowly to his feet. There was no anger in his face--only a huge amus.e.m.e.nt. Rose-Marie, watching his expression, knew all at once that nothing she said would have the slightest effect upon him. His sensibilities were too well concealed, beneath a tough veneer of conceit, to be wounded. His soul seemed too well hidden to be reached.

"So that's what you think, is it?" he asked, and his voice was almost silky, it was so smooth, "so that's what you think! I haven't any 'human affection in my make-up,'" he was imitating her angry voice, "I haven't any 'human affection'!" he laughed suddenly, and bent with a swift movement until his face was on a level with her face. "Lot yer know about it!" he told her and his voice thickened, all at once, "lot yer know about it! I'm crazy about you, little kid--just crazy! Yer th' only girl as I've ever wanted t' tie up to, get that? How'd yer like t' marry me?"

For one sickening moment Rose-Marie thought that she had misunderstood. And then she saw his face and knew that he had been deadly serious. Her hands fluttered up until they rested, like frightened birds, above her heart.

XVII

AN ANSWER

There was eagerness--and a hint of something else--in Jim's voice as he repeated his question.

"Well," he asked for the second time, "what d' yer say about it--huh?

How'd yer like ter marry me?"

Rose-Marie's fascinated eyes were on his face. At the first she had hardly believed her ears--but her ears had evidently been functioning properly. Jim wanted to marry her--to marry _her_! It was a possibility that she had never dreamed of--a thought that she had never, for one moment, entertained. Jim had always seemed so utterly of another world--of another epoch, almost. He spoke a language that was far removed from her language, his mind worked differently--even his emotions were different from her emotions. He might have been living upon another planet--so distant he had always seemed from her. _And yet he had asked her to marry him_!

Like every other normal girl, Rose-Marie had thought ahead to the time when she would have a home and a husband. She had dreamed of the day when her knight would come riding--a visionary, idealized figure, always, but a n.o.ble one! She had pictured a hearth-fire, and a blue and white kitchen with aluminum pans and gla.s.s baking dishes. She had even wondered how tiny fingers would feel as they curled about her hand--if a wee head would be heavy upon her breast.

Of late her dreams, for some reason, had become a little less misty--a little more definite. The figure of her knight had been a trifle more clear cut--the armour of her imagination had given place to rough tweed suits and soft felt hats. And the children had looked at her, from out of the shadows, with wide, dark eyes--almost like real children. Her thoughts had shaped themselves about a figure that was not the romantic creation of girlhood--that was strong and willing and very tender. Dr.

Blanchard--had he not been mistaken upon so many subjects--would have fitted nicely into the picture!

But Jim--of all people, _Jim!_ He was as far removed from the boundaries of her dream as the North Pole is removed from the South. His patent leather hair--she could not picture it against her arm--his mouth, thin-lipped and too red.... She shuddered involuntarily, as she thought of it and the man, bending above her, saw the shudder.

"Well," he questioned for the third time, "what about it? I'm a reg'lar guy, ain't I? How'd you like to marry me?"

Rose-Marie moistened her lips before she answered. Her voice, when it came, was very husky.

"Why, Jim," she said faintly, "what an idea! How did you ever come to think of it?"

The man's face was flushed. His words tumbled, quickly, from his unsteady mouth.

"I'm crazy about yer, kid," he said, "crazy about yer! Don't think that bein' married t' me will mean as you'll have ter live in a dump like this-there"--the sweep of his arm was expressive--"fer yer won't! You'll have th' grandest flat in this city--anywhere yer say'll suit me! Yer'll have hats an' dresses, an' a car--if yer want it. Yer'll have everything--if yer'll marry me! What d' yer say?"

Rose-Marie's face was a study of mixed emotions--consternation struggling with incredulity for first place. The man saw the unbelief; for he hurried on before she could speak.

"Yer think that I'm like my pa was"--he told her--"livin' on measly wages! Well, I ain't. Some nights I make a pile that runs inter thousands--an' it'll be all fer yer! All fer yer!"

Of a sudden, Rose-Marie spoke. She was scarcely tactful.

"How do you make all of this money, Jim?" she questioned; "do you come by it honestly?"

A dark wave of colour spread over the man's face--dyeing it to an ugly crimson.

"What's it matter how I get it," he snarled, "long's I get it! What business is it of yers how I come by my coin? I ain't stagin' a investergation. And"--his face softened suddenly, "an' yer wouldn't understand, anyhow! Yer only a girl--a little kid! What's it matter how I gets th' roll--long as I'm willin' ter spend it on m' sweetie? What's it matter?" He made a movement as if to take her into his arms--"_What's it matter_?" he questioned again.

Like a flash Rose-Marie was upon her feet. With a swing of her body she had evaded his arms. Her face was white and drawn, but her mind was exceptionally active--more active than it had ever been in all of her life. She knew that Jim was in a difficult mood--that a word, one way or the other, would make him as easy to manage as a kitten or as relentless as a panther, stalking his prey. She knew that it was in her power to say the word that would calm him until the return of his mother and his sister. And yet she found it well-nigh impossible to say that word.

"I'm tired of deceit," she told herself, as she stepped back in the direction of the door. "I'll not say anything to him that isn't true! ...

Nothing can happen to me, anyway," she a.s.sured herself. "This is the twentieth century, and I'm Rose-Marie Thompson. This is a civilized country--nothing can hurt me! I'm not afraid--not while G.o.d is taking care of me!"

Jim had straightened up. He seemed, suddenly, to tower.

"Well," he growled, "how about it? When'll we be married?"

Rose-Marie raised her head gallantly.

"We won't ever be married, Jim Volsky!" she told him, and even to her own surprise there was not the suggestion of a quaver in her voice. "We won't ever be married. I'm surprised at you for suggesting it!"

The man stared at her, a moment, and his eyes showed clearly that he did not quite understand.

"Yer mean," he stammered at last, "that yer t'rowing me down?"

Rose-Marie's head was still gallantly lifted.

"I mean," she said, "that I won't marry you! Please--we'll let the matter drop, at once!"

The man came a step nearer. The bewilderment was dying from his face.

"Not much, we won't let the matter drop!" he snarled. "What's yer reason fer turnin' me down--huh?"

It was then that Rose-Marie made her mistake. It was then that she ceased to be tactful. But suddenly she was tired, desperately tired, of Jim's persistence. Suddenly she was too tired even to be afraid. The lift of her chin was very proud--proud with some ingrained pride of race, as she answered. Behind her stood a long line of ancestors with gentle blood, ancestors who had known the meaning of chivalry.

Coolly she surveyed him. Dispa.s.sionately she noticed the lack of breeding in his face, the marks of early dissipation, the lines that sin had etched. And as she looked she laughed with just the suggestion of hauteur. For the first time in her life Rose-Marie was experiencing a touch of sn.o.bbishness, of cla.s.s distinction.

"We won't discuss my reason," she told him slowly; "it should be quite evident to _any one_!"

Not many weeks before, Rose-Marie had told the Young Doctor--in the presence of the Superintendent--that she loved the people of the slums.

She had been so sure of herself then--so certain that she spoke the truth. More recently she had a.s.sured the Superintendent that she could cope with any situation. And that very afternoon she had told Ella that they were alike, were just young girls--both of them--with all of life in front of them, with the same hopes and the same fears and the same ambitions.