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 w