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He compromised by turning his back on the affecting sight,

thrusting his hands in his pockets, and studying the remarkably

straight line formed by the abrupt junction of the wall and the

ceiling.

"Do you mind if I cry, C--Code?" sobbed the girl, apparently

realizing their position for the first time.

"No! Go right ahead!" he cried as heartily as though some one had

asked for a match. He was intensely happy that the matter was

settled between them. Now the harder she cried the more he liked

it, for they understood one another. So she cried and he walked

softly about, his hands in his pockets and his lips puckered for

the whistle that he did not dare permit himself.

Ma Schofield interrupted this near-domestic scene by her arrival,

carrying a tray, on which were several glasses covered with a

film of frost and out of which appeared little green forests.

Code ceased to think about whistling.