And then Pa had come in—­apparently more drunk than he had ever been.  And Rose-Marie had seen his bleary eyes pass, without a flicker of interest, over his wife’s clean apron and freshly washed hair; had seen him throw his coat and his empty bottle into one of the newly dusted corners, had seen his collapse into a heap in the center of the room.  And, last of all, as she had hurried away, with Jim’s final insinuation ringing in her ears, she had known the fear that all was not well with Bennie—­for Bennie came in every afternoon before she left.  She could not know that Bennie, by this time a budding Boy Scout, was learning more lessons of the sort that she had taught him.

Yes, she was weary, in every fibre of her being, as she sat down to supper that night.  She had it quite alone in the dining-room, which, all at once, seemed very large—­for the Superintendent was sitting, somewhere, with a dying woman, and the Young Doctor had been called out on an emergency case.  And then, still alone, she wandered into the library of the Settlement House and picked up a book.  She felt, somehow, too tired to sleep—­too utterly exhausted to lay her head upon her pillow.  It was in the library that the Superintendent, coming wearily back from the watch with death, found her.

“My dear,” said the Superintendent, and there was a sound of tears in her usually steady voice, “my dear, I’m about all in!  Yes, I know it’s slang, but I can’t help it—­I feel slangy!  Come up to my sitting-room for a few minutes and we’ll have a cup of hot chocolate!”

Rose-Marie laid down her book with alacrity.  She realized, suddenly, that she wanted companionship of her own sort—­that she longed with all of her soul to chat with some one who did not murder the queen’s English, that she wanted to exchange commonplaces about books, and music, and beautiful things—­things that the Volskys would not understand.

“I guess,” she said, as she followed the Superintendent into the cozy sitting-room, “I guess that tiredness is in the air to-day.  I’m all in, myself.  A cup of chocolate and a friendly talk will be a godsend to me, this evening!”

The Superintendent was laying aside her coat and her hat.  She smoothed her hair with a nervous hand, and straightened her linen collar, before she sank into an easy chair.

“Child,” she said abruptly, “you shouldn’t be tired—­not ever!  You’ve got youth, and all of the world at your feet.  You’ve got beauty, and confidence, and faith.  And I—­well, I’m getting to be an old woman!  I feel sometimes as if I’ve been sitting on the window sill, watching life go by, for centuries.  You mustn’t—­” She paused, and there was a sudden change in her voice, “You’re not tiring yourself, Rose-Marie?  You’re not doing more than your strength will permit?  If you could have read the letter that your aunts sent to me, when you first came to the Settlement House!  I tell you, child, I’ve felt my responsibility keenly!  I’d no more think of letting you brush up against the sort of facts I’m facing, than I would—­”