The Young Doctor was laughing, too.  Strangely enough his laughter had just the suggestion of a tremor in it.

“I’ll say that she has!” he replied, and his words, though slangy, were very tender.  “I’ll say that she has!” And then—­“Are we going back to the little town, Rose-Marie,” he questioned.  “Are we going back to the little town to be married?”

The blush had died from Rose-Marie’s face, leaving it just faintly flushed.  The eyes that she raised to the Young Doctor’s eyes were like warm stars.

“No,” she told him, “we’re not!  I’ve thought it all out.  We’re going to be married here—­here in the Settlement House.  I’ll write for my aunts to come on—­and for my old pastor!  I couldn’t be married without my aunts....  And my pastor; he christened me, and he welcomed me into the church, and”—­all at once she started up from the table, “I’m going up-stairs to write, now,” she managed.  “I want to tell them that we’re going to start our home here”—­her voice broke, “here, on our own Island....”  Like a flash she was out of the door.

The Young Doctor was on his feet.  Luncheon was quite forgotten.

“I think,” he said softly, and his face was like a light, “I think that I’ll go with her—­and help her with the letter!” The door closed, sharply, upon his hurrying back.

* * * * *

The Superintendent, left alone at the table, rang for the maid.  Her voice was carefully calm as she ordered the evening meal.  But her eyes were just a bit misty as she looked into the maid’s dull face.

“Mrs. Volsky,” she said suddenly, “love must have its way!  And love is—­”

The maid looked at her blankly.  Obviously she did not understand.  But, seeing her neat apron, her clean hands, her carefully combed hair, one could forgive her vague expression.

“What say?” she questioned.

The Superintendent laughed wearily, “Anyway,” she remarked, “Ella likes her work, doesn’t she?  And Jim?  And Bennie is going to be a great man, some day—­isn’t he?  And Lily may be made well—­quite well!  You should be a glad woman, Mrs. Volsky!”

Pride flamed up, suddenly, in the maid’s face—­blotting out the dullness.

“God,” she said simply and—­marvel of marvels—­her usually toneless voice was athrob with love—­“God is good!” She went out, with a tray full of dishes.

Her chin in the palm of her hand, the Superintendent stared off into space.  If she was thinking of a little blond child—­lying in a hospital bed—­if she was thinking of a man with sleek hair, trying to make a new start—­if she was thinking of a girl with dark, flashing eyes, and a small, grubby-fingered boy, her expression did not mirror her thought.  Only once she spoke, as she was folding her napkin.  And then—­

“They’re both very young,” she murmured, a shade wistfully.  Perhaps she was remembering the springtime of her own youth.