father, without reproving her, drew her quietly back, and with a
countenance a shade darker than before, pointed out the way for Ned
toward the veranda leading to the rear hall-door.

With a vindictive look, and pouting lips, Ned turned his steps down
the walk. Just then he noticed Philip Winwood, who had viewed every
detail of the scene with wonder, and who now regarded Ned with a kind
of vaguely disliking curiosity, such as one bestows on some
sinister-looking strange animal. Philip's look was, of course,
unconscious, but none the less clearly to be read for that. Ned
Faringfield, pausing on his way, stared at the unknown lad, with an
expression of insolent inquiry. Not daring to stay for questions, but
observing the valise, he seemed to become aware that the newcomer was
an already accepted guest of the house; and he thereupon surveyed
Philip a moment, inwardly measuring him as a possible comrade or
antagonist, but affecting a kind of disdain. A look from his father
ended Ned's inspection, and sent him hastily toward his imprisonment,
whither he went with no one's pity but Fanny's--for his mother had
become afraid of him, and little Tom took his likes and dislikes from
his sister Madge.

And so they went in to supper, disappearing from my sight behind the
corner of the parlour wing as they mounted the rear veranda: Mr. and
Mrs. Faringfield first, the mother leading Fanny by the wounded wrist;
the big dog next, wagging his tail for no particular reason; and then
Philip Winwood, with his cat in his basket, Madge at one side of him
and pretending an interest in the kitten while from beneath her lashes
she alertly watched the boy himself, little Tom on the other side
holding Philip's hand. I stood at the gateway, looking after; and with
all my young infatuation for Madge, I had no feeling but one of