Having been warned by Stenhouse not to discuss his case with anyone, Teddy was discreetly silent. As a matter of fact, he had too much to think of to be inclined to talk. The circumstance that "young Coll" had become a relative was one of which he was just beginning to seize the importance. His bruised mind had been unable at first to apprehend it. Slowly he was coming to the realized knowledge that he was allied to that Olympian race which the Collinghams represented to the Folletts, and that, at least, some of their power was engaged on his behalf.
It was confusing. Since the might that had struck him down was also coming to his aid, the issue was no longer clear-cut. To have all the right on one side and all the wrong on the other had simplified life. Now, a right that was partly wrong and a wrong that was partly right had been personified, as it were, in this union through which a Collingham had become a Follett, and a Follett a Collingham.
Young Coll was standing where Jennie had stood on the first occasion of Teddy's coming to the visitors' room. He too waited with a smile. The minute he saw the lad appear timidly on the threshold he limped forward with outstretched hand.
"Hello, Teddy!" His embarrassment, being a kindly embarrassment, was without awkwardness. "You didn't know I was going to be your brother the last time you saw me, did you?"
Teddy said nothing. He was not sullen, but neither was he friendly. A Collingham, even though married to his sister, was probably a person to be feared. Teddy's counsel to himself was to be on his guard against "the nigger in the woodpile."
"Perhaps it was my fault that you didn't," Bob went on, with some constraint. "That's the reason why I'm here. I dare say there isn't much I can do for you, old boy, but what little there is I want to do."
Teddy eyed him steadily, still without making a reply. Somehow they found chairs. Boole, having once more summed up the visitor, had retreated toward the guard who sat officially at the far end of the room.
"Looks like a good cuss," was Boole's whispered confidence. "Kind o' soft--like most o' them swell sports that marries working goyls."
Bob was finding himself less and less at his ease. The boy not only came none of the way to meet him, but seemed to hold him as an enemy. By his silence and by the severity of his regard he conveyed the impression that young Coll, and not himself, had done the wrong.