What
banished us--Philip and me--from Ned's particular set was, first,
Ned's enmity toward us; second, our attachment to a clan of boys
equally bent on playing the rake in secret, though of better
information and manners than Ned's comrades could boast of; third,
Phil's fondness for books, and mine for him; and finally, our love for
Madge.
This last remained unaltered in both of us. As for Madge, as I had
predicted to myself, she had gradually restored me to my old place in
her consideration as the novelty of Philip's newer devotion had worn
off. We seemed now to be equals in her esteem. At one time Phil would
apparently stand uppermost there, at another I appeared to be
preferred. But this alternating superiority was usually due to casual
circumstance. Sometimes, I suppose, it owed itself to caprice;
sometimes, doubtless, to deep design unsuspected by either of us. Boys
are not men until they are well grown; but women are women from their
first compliment. On the whole, as I have said, Phil and I were very
even rivals.
It was sometime in the winter--Philip's first winter with the
Faringfields--that the next outbreak came, between him and Master
Edward. If ever the broad mansion of the Faringfields looked warm and
welcoming, it was in midwinter. The great front doorway, with its
fanlight above, and its panel windows at each side, through which the
light shone during the long evenings, and with its broad stone steps
and out-curving iron railings, had then its most hospitable aspect.
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