He had no sympathy for Phineas Babbitt's vindictive hatred
of all those more fortunate than he or who opposed him, or for his
silly and selfish ideas concerning the war. But he did pity him;
he pitied him profoundly.
Babbitt had left the front door open in his emotional departure and
Jed followed to close it. Before doing so he stepped out into the
yard.
It was pitch dark now and still. He could hear the footsteps of
his recent visitor pounding up the road, and the splashy grumble of
the surf on the bar was unusually audible. He stood for a moment
looking up at the black sky, with the few stars shining between the
cloud blotches. Then he turned and looked at the little house next
door.
The windows of the sitting-room were alight and the shades drawn.
At one window he saw Charles Phillips' silhouette; he was reading,
apparently. Across the other shade Ruth's dainty profile came and
went. Jed looked and looked. He saw her turn and speak to some
one. Then another shadow crossed the window, the shadow of Major
Grover. Evidently the major had not gone home at once as he had
told Jed he intended doing, plainly he had been persuaded to enter
the Armstrong house and make Charlie and his sister a short call.
This was Jed's estimate of the situation, his sole speculation
concerning it and its probabilities.
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