“It’s the little Thompson girl,” she answered; “she’s so anxious to convert people, and she’s so sincere,—­so very sincere.  I can’t help feeling that you are a thorn in her flesh, Billy.  She says that you won’t read her missionary books—­”

The Young Doctor interrupted.

“She’s such a pretty girl,” he said quite fiercely.  “Why on earth didn’t she stay at home, where she belonged!  Why on earth did she pick out this sort of work?”

The Superintendent answered.

“One never knows,” she said, “why girls pick out certain kinds of work.  I’ve had the strangest cases come to my office—­of homely girls who wanted to be artists’ models, and anemic girls who wanted to be physical directors, and flighty girls who wanted to go to Bible School, and quiet girls who were all set for a career on the stage.  Rose-Marie Thompson is the sort of a girl who was cut out to be a home-maker, to give happiness to some nice, clean boy, to have a nursery full of rosy-cheeked babies.  And yet here she is, filled with a desire to rescue people, to snatch brands from the burning.  Here she is in the slums when she’d be dramatically right in an apple orchard—­at the time of year when the trees are covered with pink and white blossoms.”

The Young Doctor laughed.  He so well understood the Superintendent—­so enjoyed her point of view.

“Yes,” he agreed, “she’d be perfect there in an organdy frock with the sun slanting across her face.  But—­well, she’s just like other girls.  Tell a pretty girl that she’s clever, they say, and tell a clever girl that she’s a raving, tearing beauty.  That’s the way for a man to be popular!”

The Superintendent laughed quietly with him.  It was a moment before she grew sober again.

“I wonder,” she said at last, “why you have never tried to be popular with girls.  You could so easily be popular.  You’re young and—­don’t try to hush me up—­good-looking.  And yet—­well, you’re such an antagonistic person.  From the very first you’ve laughed at Rose-Marie—­and she was quite ready to adore you when she arrived.  How do I know?  Oh, I could tell!  Take the child seriously, Billy Blanchard, before she actually begins to dislike you!”

The Young Doctor put several bottles of violently coloured pills into his bag before he spoke.

“She dislikes me already,” he said.  “She’s such a cool little person.  What are you trying to do, anyway?  Are you trying to matchmake; to stir up a love affair between the both of us—­” suddenly he was laughing again.

“I’m too busy to have a romance, you old dear,” he told the Superintendent, “far too busy.  I’m as likely to fall in love, just now, as you are!”

The woman’s face was averted as she answered.  But her low voice was steady.

“When I was your age, Billy,” she said gently, “I was in love.  That’s why, perhaps, I came here.  That’s why, perhaps, I stayed.  No, he didn’t die—­he married another girl.  And dreams are hard things to forget.  That’s why I left the country.  Maybe that’s why the little Thompson girl—­”