when Philip asked me for my answer, dear. Indeed, I hardly know,
myself," she began. "It wasn't that I didn't know what I had got to
tell him, for I had made up my mind long ago--at least, it seems long
ago, although it was only this morning, when I got his letter. Much as I
cared for him, my heart knew that there was only one man in the world
for me--even though he appeared not to want me!"

The digression caused a further and wholly natural delay.

"Perhaps it was because I hated to hurt him, and wanted desperately to
postpone the evil moment; but, at any rate, I begged him to wait, and
said that he didn't know all the facts about me. I told him that I
wasn't sure that I ought to marry any one. And that was true, Donald.
I've often worried about it, for I didn't know anything about my
parents, and heredity counts for so much, doesn't it?

"Of course he replied, just as I might have expected, that he didn't
know what I meant, but that nothing else could possibly matter to him,
if only I ... I cared.

"But I said that I had to explain,--I guess that I was a little
panic-stricken, he seemed so deadly in earnest,--and then I told him
that I wasn't Big Jerry's grandchild really, but only a little waif whom
he had taken in. 'So, you see, I am a nameless girl, Philip,' I said. 'I
don't mean it in a bad sense, for I know that I had a dear father and
mother, whom I just barely remember, but....'

"I don't know exactly what I was going to add, but he broke in with,
'What earthly difference do you think that could make to me, dear?' And
then he told me that he _knew_ I was ... was good and pure, that _any
one_ who was acquainted with me could see that I must have come from
sterling stock, even if my parents were simple mountaineers.

"'But they weren't, Phil,' I answered. 'I was a poor little city waif,
who had lost her parents and didn't know where she came from, or even
her name.' And then I told him the story which Big Jerry told you that
first night on the mountain.

"And then, Donald, then it was my turn to be surprised, for Philip
grasped my arm until he hurt me, and cried, 'I can't believe it, Rose. I
_won't_ believe it!'

"I didn't know what to say, and somehow I felt both hurt and a little
angry that it should make any difference in his love--yes, I did, in
spite of the fact that I couldn't marry him anyway. Yet, at the same
time, I had an impression that it wasn't that, but something quite
different, which w