of his chair, as if even his resting had a sort of violence in it.
His expression, as he studied Peewee, changed from mere attention into startled surprise.
"Come here," he ordered harshly.
He put his immense hand under Peewee's chin, as Mrs. Markyn pushed him forward to him, and turned up his face to look at it. Then he looked as if in amazement at Mrs. Markyn. She met his look courageously, but flushed and bent over Peewee as though to hide her embarrassment.
There was, Peewee perceived, a mystery here. Mrs. Markyn's embarrassment perplexed him. Had the old man recognized his likeness to his father? If he had done that and if Mrs. Markyn also recognized it, she ought to push him away from her, and hate him, and burst into tears perhaps, over the destruction of her happiness. She did not, it was true, look happy; but neither did she look like a person whose life had been reduced to ruin.
The impossibility of accounting for all this confused him.
