"I positively must go back. We have company, and I ran away without saying a word."
"Anybody I know?" inquired Tom.
"Three somebodies whom you know, or ought to know, very well: Mr. Duxbury Farley, Mr. Vincent Farley, Miss Eva Farley."
His eyes darkened suddenly.
"I'd like to know how under the sun they managed to get on your grandfather's good side!" he grumbled.
Ardea Dabney's expressive face mirrored dawning displeasure.
"Why do you say that?" she retorted. "Eva was my classmate for years at Miss De Valle's."
He made a boyish face of disapproval, saying bluntly: "I don't care if she was. You shouldn't make friends of them. They are not fit for you to wipe your shoes on."
For the second time since his home-coming, Tom saw the Dabney imperiousness flash out; saw and felt it.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Tom Gordon! Less than an hour ago, we were speaking of you, and of what happened at Beersheba. Mr. Farley and his son both stood up for you."