rossed in the business
of my jaws that I did not heed the unwonted silence of the rest. Then
suddenly it came upon me as something embarrassing and painful that
Mr. and Mrs. Faringfield, who usually conversed at meals, had nothing
to say, and that Philip Winwood sat gloomy and taciturn, merely going
through a hollow form of eating. As for Fanny, she was the picture of
childish sorrow, though now tearless. Only Madge and little Tom, who
had found some joke between themselves, occasionally spluttered with
suppressed laughter, smiling meanwhile knowingly at each other.

Of course this depression was due to the absence of Ned, regarding the
cause of which his mother was still in the dark. Not missing him until
we children had filed in to supper after tidying up, she had then
remarked that he was not yet in.

"He will not be home to supper," Mr. Faringfield had replied, in a
tone that forbade questioning until the pair should be alone, and
motioning his wife to be seated at the table. After that he had once
or twice essayed to talk upon casual subjects, as if nothing had
happened, but he had perceived that the attempt was hopeless while
Mrs. Faringfield remained in her state of deferred curiosity and vague
alarm, and so he had desisted.

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
sorrowfull