Near the close of the noon recess he was constrained to reprove No. 7 for an act that might have created serious complications. He was standing in the rotunda finishing his third cigarette, when Miss Hildebrand approached on her way to the court-room. It had been his practice--and it was commendable--to refrain from staring at her on occasions such as this. A rather low order of intelligence prevented his fellow jurors from according her the same consideration. They stared without blinking until she disappeared from view. Now, No. 7 meant no harm, and yet he so far forgot himself that he doffed his hat to her as she passed. Fortunately she was not looking in his direction. As a matter of fact, she never even so much as noticed the nine or ten jurors who strewed her path. No. 7 was mistaken, there can be no doubt about that. He thought she looked at him instead of through him, and in his excitement he grabbed for his hat. Perhaps he hoped for a smile of recognition, and, if not that, a smile of amusement. He would have been grateful in either case. “Don't do that,” whispered Sampson, gruffly. “Why not?” demanded No. 7, blinking his eyes. “No harm in being a gentleman, is there?” “You must not be seen speaking to her--or to any one of the interested parties, for that matter. Do you want to have her accused of bribery or--er--complicity?” “I thought she was going to speak to me,” stammered No. 7. “Well, she wasn't. She has too much sense for that. Good Lord, if counsel for the State saw you doing that sort of thing, they'd suspect something in a second.” “Haven't you read about those jury-fixing scandals?” exclaimed the chubby bachelor, surprisingly red in the face. He had almost reached his own hat when Sampson spoke. Four or five of the others glowered upon the offending No. 7. “We can't even be seen bowing to anybody connected with the case.” “I saw you throw your cigar away when she came in the door,” retorted No. 7, in some exasperation. “What did you do that for?” The chubby bachelor looked hurt. “Because I was through with it,” he said. “I don't hang onto 'em till they burn my lips, you know.” He deemed it advisable to resort to sarcasm. “Just remember that you are a juror,” advised No. 4 in a friendly tone. One might have thought he was compassionate. “No harm done,” said No. 12. “She didn't even see you. I happen to know, because she was lookin' right at me when you took off your lid. You didn't notice me fiddling with my head-piece, did you? I guess not. She don't expect us to, and so I didn't make any crack. I--” “I'd suggest,” said Sampson, with dignity, “that we devote a certain amount of respect to the ethics.”