while, glancing at the door, every now and then, hoping she would repent and come to find him. But she did not. Then he began to feel badly and fear that he was in the wrong. It was a hard struggle with him to make new advances, now, but he nerved himself to it and entered. She was still standing back there in the corner, sobbing, with her face to the wall. Tom’s heart smote him. He went to her and stood a moment, not knowing exactly how to proceed. Then he said hesitatingly:

“Becky, I — I don’t care for anybody but you.”

No reply — but sobs.

“Becky” — pleadingly. “Becky, won’t you say something?”

More sobs.