ousers were creased to an
almost dangerous edge. But it was the face of the young man from which
Rose-Marie shrank back--a clever, sharp face with narrow, horribly
speculative eyes and a thin-lipped red mouth. It was a handsome face,
yes, but--

The voice of Bennie broke, suddenly, across her speculations.
"Jim," he said.

Still jauntily--Rose-Marie realized that jauntiness was his keynote--the
young man entered the room. His sharp eyes travelled with lightning-like
rapidity over the place, resting a moment on the sleeping figure of Pa
before they hurried past him to Rose-Marie. He surveyed her coolly,
taking in every feature, every fold of her garments, with a studied
boldness that was somehow offensive.

"Who's she?" he questioned abruptly, of any one who cared to answer, and
one manicured finger pointed in her direction. "Where'd she come from?"

Bennie was the one who spoke. Rather gallantly he stepped in front of
Rose-Marie.

"She's a friend of mine," he said; "she lives by th' Settlement House.
She come up here t' see me, 'n' Ma, 'n' Lily. You leave her be--y'
understand?"

The young man laughed, and his laugh was curiously hard and dry.

"Oh, sure!" he told Bennie. "I'll leave her be! What," he turned to
Rose-Marie with an insolent smile, "what's yer name?"

Rose-Marie met his insolent gaze with a calm expression. No one would
have guessed that she was trembling inwardly.

"My name," she told him, "is Rose-Marie Thompson. I live in the
Settlement House, and I came to see your sister."

"Well," the young man's insolent gaze was still studying Rose-Marie,
"well, she'll be up soon. I passed 'er on th' stairs. But," he laughed
again, "why didn't yer come t' see me--huh?"

Rose-Marie, having no answer, turned expectantly toward the door. If this
Jim had passed his sister on the stairs, she couldn't be very far away.
As if in reply to her supposition, the door swung open again and a tall,
dark-eyed girl came into the room. Rose-Marie saw with her first swift
glance that the red upon the girl's cheeks was too high to be quite
natural--that the scarlet of her lips was over-vivid. And yet, despite
the patently artificial colouring, she realized that the girl was
beautiful with a high strung, almost thoroughbred beauty. She wondered
how this beauty had been born of the dim woman who seemed so colourless
and the sodden brute who lay snoring in the comer.

Her train of thought was broken, suddenly. For the you