“He’s all right, is he?” asked Schofield.
She smiled up at him through her tears.
“Yes, the doctor says it was just too much smoke. Oh, Code, how can I thank you for this? And you are hurt! Is it bad? Can’t I do anything?”
She struggled to her feet, solicitude written on her face, for the moment even forgetting little Bige, who had begun to howl.
“No,” said Schofield, “you can’t do anything. It isn’t much. I’m only glad I succeeded. Don’t think anything about it.”
“Father and mother will never forget this, and 27 I’m sure will do what they can to make it right with you.”
He looked at her as though she had struck him. Never in his life had she used that tone. Before the mute query of his eyes she turned her head away.
“What do you mean––by that?” he faltered, hardly knowing what he said.
“Nothing, Code, only––only––” She could not finish.
“What has happened, Nellie?” he began, and then halted, his gaze riveted upon her hand. A single diamond glittered from the dirt and grime that soiled her finger.