After supper, which the lady's impatience made shorter than my
appetite would have dictated, the husband and wife went into the small
parlour, closing the door upon us children in the library. Here I
managed to make a pleasant evening, in games with Madge and little Tom
upon the floor. But Philip, though he came in as was his wont, was not
to be lured into our play or our talk. He did not even read, but sat
silent and pondering, in no cheerful mood. I, not reading him as Madge
did, knew not what the matter was, and accused him of having vapours,
like a girl. He looked at me heedlessly, in reply, as if he scarce
heard. But Madge, apparently, divined his feeling, and at times
respected it, for then she spoke low, and skilfully won me back from
my efforts to enliven him. At other times, his way seemed to irritate
her, and she hinted that he was foolish, and then she was
extraordinarily smiling and adorable to me (always, I now suspect,
with the corner of her eye upon him) as if to draw him back to his
usual good-fellowship by that method. But 'twas in vain. I left at
bedtime, wondering what change had come over him.

That night, I learned afterward, Philip slept little, debating
sorrowfully in his mind. He kept his window slightly open at night, in
all weather; and open also that night was one of the windows of Mr.
and Mrs. Faringfield's great chamber below. A sound that reached him
in the small hours, of Mrs. Faringfield whimpering and weeping,
decided him. And the next morning, after another silent meal, he
contrived to fall into Mr. Faringfield's company on the way to the
warehouse, which they had almost reached ere Phil, very down in the
mouth and perturbed, got up his courage to his unpleasant task and
blundered out in a boyish, frightened way: