ent 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.

She had believed the statement that she had made, so emphatically, to the
Young Doctor--she had believed it very strongly. She had been utterly
sure of herself when she begged the Superintendent to let her know more
of life. And, during her talk with Ella, she had felt a real kinship to
the whole of the Volsky family! But now that she had come face to face
with a crisis--now that she was meeting her big test--she knew that her
strong beliefs were weakening and that she was no longer at all sure of
herself! And as for being kin to the Volskys--the idea was quite
unthinkable.

Always, Rose-Marie had imagined that a proposal of marriage would be
the greatest compliment that a man could pay a girl. But the proposal
of the man in front of her did not seem in the least complimentary.
She realized--with the only feeling of irony she had ever known, that
this proposal was her very first. And she was looking upon it as an
insult. With a tiny curl of her lips she raised her eyes until they
met Jim's eyes.

"It should be quite evident," she repeated, "to any one!"

Jim Volsky's face had turned to a dark mottled red. His slim, well
manicured hands were clenched at his sides.

"Y' mean," he questioned, and his voice had an ugly ring, "y' mean I
ain't good enough fer yer?"

All at once the snobbishness had slipped, like a worn coat, from the
shoulders of the girl. She was Rose-Marie Thompson again--Settlement
worker. She was no better, despite the ancestors with gentle blood,
than the man in front of her--just more fortunate. She realized that
she had been not only unkind, but foolish. She tried, hurriedly--and
with a great scare looking out of her wide eyes--to repair the mistake
that she had made.

"I don't mean that I am better than you, Jim," she said softly, "not in
the matter of family. We are all the children of God--we are all brothers
and sisters in His sight."

Jim Volsky interrupted. He came nearer to Rose-Marie--so near that only a
few inches of floor space lay between them.

"Don't yer go sayin' over Sunday-school lessons at me," he snarled. "I
know what yer meant. Yer think I ain't good enough--t' marry yer.
Well"--he laughed shortly, "well, maybe I ain't good enough--