“I don’t think that I’ll stay,” she said hurriedly, “I’m too tired, after all!  I think—­”

The Superintendent had paused in her progress to the door.  Her voice was surprisingly firm, of a sudden; firmer than Rose-Marie had ever heard it.

“No, my dear,” said the Superintendent, “you’re not too tired!  You just don’t want to be civil to a very fine boy—­who has had a harder day than either of us.  You came to the slums, Rose-Marie, to help people—­to show that you were a Christian.  I think that you can show it, to-night, by forgetting a silly quarrel that happened weeks ago—­by forgetting the words Dr. Blanchard said that he never really meant, inside.  If he thought that these people weren’t worth it, do you suppose he’d stay here, at the Settlement House, for a mere pittance?  He’s had many a chance to go to fashionable hospitals, up-town!”

Rose-Marie, bewildered, and not a little ashamed, sank back into her seat as the Superintendent swung open the door.

The Young Doctor came in with a springing step, but there were gray lines that spoke of extreme fatigue about his mouth, and his eyes were darkly circled.  His surprise, at the sight of Rose-Marie, was evident—­though he tried to hide it by the breeziness of his manner.

“You’ll be glad to know,” he told the Superintendent, “that the stork has called on the Stefan family.  It’s a boy—­nine pounds—­with lots of dark hair.  There have been three girls, in the Stefan family,” he explained to Rose-Marie, “and so they are wild with joy at this latest addition.  Papa Stefan is strutting about like a proud turkey, with his chest out.  And Mamma Stefan is trying to sing a lullaby.  I feel something like a tool in the hand of Providence, to-night!” He threw himself upon the sofa.

There was deep, motherly affection in the Superintendent’s face as she smiled at him.

“We’re all of us mental and physical wrecks this evening, Billy!” she said.  “I think that I’ve never been so utterly worn out before.  Katie” (Katie was the stolid maid) “is making chocolate for us!”

“Chocolate!” The Young Doctor’s glance answered the affection that shone out of the Superintendent’s face—­“You are a dear!” He smiled at her, and then—­all at once—­turned swiftly to Rose-Marie.

“Don’t let’s squabble to-night,” he said childishly, “not about anything!  We’re dog-tired, all three of us, and we’re not up to even a tiny quarrel.  I’m willing to admit anything you want me to—­even that I’m wrong on a lot of subjects.  And I want you to admit, yourself, that you’d rather be here, with the two of us, than out in some den of iniquity—­reforming people.  Am I right?”

Rose-Marie felt a glow of friendship toward the Young Doctor.  Why couldn’t he always be like this—­confiding and boyish and approachable?  She smiled at him, very sweetly, as she answered.

“You’re right,” she admitted.  “I’m afraid that I haven’t the heart to think of reforming any one, this evening!  I’m just glad—­glad from the very soul of me—­to be here with you all, in the very center of this—­island!”