"How d' you know," she demanded passionately, "that I didn't think of that myself? How do you know? You're th' only one, I s'pose," her tone was suddenly mocking, "that knows how t' think! No"—as Rose-Marie started to interrupt—"don't try t' pull any alibi on me! I know th' way you Settlement House ladies"—she accented the word—"feel about us. You have clubs for us, an' parties, an' uplift meetin's. You pray fer us—an' with us. You tell us who t' marry, an' how t' bring up our children, an' what butcher t' buy our meat off of. But when it comes t' understandin' us—an' likin' us! Well, you're too good, that's all." She paused, staring at Rose-Marie's incredulous face with insolent eyes.
"You're like all th' rest," she went on, after a moment, "just like all th' rest. I was beginnin' t' think that you was diff'rent. You've been so white about Bennie. An' you washed Ma's hair—I wouldn't 'a' done that myself! But now—now it sticks out all over you; th' I'm-better-'n-you-are stuff. I never could think of a thing, I couldn't. But you—you're smart, you are. You could think—"
Rose-Marie's cheeks were flushed with a very real resentment, as she interrupted the girl's flow of half-articulate speech.
"Ella," she said, and her words, too, came rapidly, "you know that you're not being fair—you know it! I've never held apart from you in any way. Oh, I realize that we've been brought up in different—surroundings. And it's made us different from each other in the unimportant things. But we're both girls, Ella—we're both young and we've both got all of life before us. And so, perhaps, we can understand each other"—she was fumbling mentally for words, in an effort to make clear her meaning—"more than either of us realize. I wasn't, for one moment, trying to patronize you when I said what I did. I was only wondering how you happened to say something that I wouldn't ever dream of saying—that no nice girl, who had a real understanding of life"—she wondered, even as she spoke the words, what the Young Doctor would think if he could hear them issuing from her lips—"would dream of saying. You're a nice girl, Ella—or you wouldn't be in the same family with Bennie and Lily. And you're a sensible girl, so you must realize how important and sacred marriage is. Who told you that it was a mistake, Ella? Who," her childish face was very grave, indeed, "who told you such a terrible thing?"
Ella's eyes were blazing—Rose-Marie almost thought that the girl was going to strike her! But the blazing eyes wavered, after a moment, and fell.
"My gentleman fren' says marriage is wrong," said Ella. "He knows a lot. And he has so much money"—she made a wide gesture with her hands—"I can have a nice place ter live, Miss Rose-Marie, an' pretty clothes. Lookit Ma; she's married an' she ain't got nothin'! I can have coats an' hats an'—"
Rose-Marie touched Ella's hand, timidly, with her cool fingers.
"But you'll have to pay for them, Ella," she said. "Think, dear; will the coats and hats be worth the price that you'll have to pay? Will they be worth the price of self-respect—will they be worth the price of honourable wifehood and—motherhood? Will the pretty clothes, Ella, make it easier for you to look into the face of some other woman—who has kept straight? Will they?"
Ella raised her eyes and, in their suddenly vague expression, Rose-Marie saw a glimmering of the faded, crushed mother. She hurried on.
"What kind of a chap is this gentleman friend," she raged, "to ask so much of you, dear? Is there—is there any reason why he can't marry you? Is he tied to some one else?"