Joe looked up at him with a smile through her tears, beautiful as a rose
just wet with a summer shower.
"And so--you did not think I could," she said. She dried her eyes quickly
and rose to her feet. "It is very silly of me, I know, but I cannot help
it in the least," said she, turning from him in pretense of arranging the
knickknacks on the mantel.
"Of course you cannot help it, Joe, dear; as if you had not a perfect
right to cry, if you like! I am such a brute--I know."
"Come and look at the snow," said Joe, taking his hand and leading him to
the window. Enormous Irishmen in pilot coats, comforters, and india-rubber
boots, armed with broad wooden spades, were struggling to keep the drifts
from the pavement. Joe and Ronald stood and watched them idly, absorbed in
their own thoughts.
Presently a booby sleigh drawn by a pair of strong black horses floundered
up the hill and stopped at the door.
"Oh, Ronald, there is Sybil, and she will see I have been crying. You must
amuse her, and I will come back in a few minutes.
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