he questioned. "Are _we_ going back to the
little town to be married?"

The blush had died from Rose-Marie's face, leaving it just faintly
flushed. The eyes that she raised to the Young Doctor's eyes were like
warm stars.

"No," she told him, "we're not! I've thought it all out. We're going to
be married here--here in the Settlement House. I'll write for my aunts to
come on--and for my old pastor! I couldn't be married without my
aunts.... And my pastor; he christened me, and he welcomed me into the
church, and"--all at once she started up from the table, "I'm going
up-stairs to write, now," she managed. "I want to tell them that we're
going to start our home here"--her voice broke, "here, on our own
Island...." Like a flash she was out of the door.

The Young Doctor was on his feet. Luncheon was quite forgotten.

"I think," he said softly, and his face was like a light, "I think that
I'll go with her--and help her with the letter!" The door closed,
sharply, upon his hurrying back.

* * * * *

The Superintendent, left alone at the table, rang for the maid. Her voice
was carefully calm as she ordered the evening meal. But her eyes were
just a bit misty as she looked into the maid's dull face.

"Mrs. Volsky," she said suddenly, "love must have its way! And love is--"

The maid looked at her blankly. Obviously she did not understand. But,
seeing her neat apron, her clean hands, her carefully combed hair, one
could forgive her vague expression.

"What say?" she questioned.

The Superintendent laughed wearily, "Anyway," she remarked, "Ella likes
her work, doesn't she? And Jim? And Bennie is going to be a great man,
some day--isn't he? And Lily may be made well--quite well! You should be
a glad woman, Mrs. Volsky!"

Pride flamed up, suddenly, in the maid's face--blotting out the dullness.

"God," she said simply and--marvel of marvels--her usually toneless
voice was athrob with love--"God is good!" She went out, with a tray
full of dishes.

Her chin in the palm of her hand, the Superintendent stared off into
space. If she was thinking of a little blond child--lying in a hospital
bed--if she was thinking of a man with sleek hair, trying to make a new
start--if she was thinking of a girl with dark, flashing eyes, and a
small, grubby-fingered boy, her expression did not mirror her thought.
Only once she spoke, as she was folding her napkin. And then--

"They're both very young," s