At sight of this, Mrs. Faringfield gave a low cry of horror and
maternal pity, and fell to caressing the bruised wrist; and Madge,
raising her arm girl-wise, began to rain blows on her brother, which
fell wherever they might, but where none of them could hurt. Her
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.
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