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.  Dispassionately 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 snobbishness, of class 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 assured 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.

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.