It was indeed a changed and chastened Ned, to all outward appearance, that entered meekly with the pedagogue a few minutes later. His tread was so soft, his demeanour so tame, that one would scarce have known him but for a second look at his shapely face and burly figure. The face was now somewhat hollowed out, darkened, lined, and blotched; and elongated with meek resignation. His clothes—claret-coloured cloth coat and breeches, flowered waistcoat, silk stockings, lace ruffles, and all—were shabby and stained. He bowed to the company, and then stood, furtively watching for some manifestation from the rest before he dared proceed to warmer greetings.
Fanny stepped softly forward and kissed him, in a shy, perfunctory manner; and then good-natured Tom shook his hand, and Philip followed suit; after which Mrs. Faringfield embraced him somewhat stiffly, and I gingerly held his fingers a moment, and my mother hoped he found himself well.
"Quite well, I thank you, considering," said he; and then gazed in a half-scared way at his father. All the old defiance had disappeared under the blows of adversity.
"Well, sir," said his father, coldly, "we had scarce looked for you back among us."
"No, sir," said Ned, still standing. "I had no right to be looked for, sir—no more than the prodigal son had. I'm a bit like him, sir."
"Don't count upon the fatted calf, however."
"No, sir; not me. Very plain fare will do for me. I—I ask your pardon, sir, for that—that business about Mr. Palmer."
"The world has put you into a humble mood," said Mr. Faringfield, with sarcastic indifference.
"Yes, sir; the way of transgressors is hard, sir."
"Why don't you sit down?" put in Mrs. Faringfield, who was made uncomfortable by the sight of others being so.