Beside them stood Philippa Furlong, and she had her arm around Dulphemia's waist; and the picture that they thus made, with their heads close together, Dulphemia's hair being golden and Philippa's chestnut-brown, was such that Mr.Spillikins had no eyes for Mrs.Newberry nor for Castel Casteggio nor for anything.

So much so that he practically didn't see at all the little girl in green that stood unobtrusively on the further side of Mrs.Newberry.

Indeed, though somebody had murmured her name in introduction, he couldn't have repeated it if asked two minutes afterwards.

His eyes and his mind were elsewhere.
But hers were not.
For the Little Girl in Green looked at Mr.Spillikins with wide eyes, and when she looked at him she saw all at once such wonderful things about him as nobody had ever seen before.
For she could see from the poise of his head how awfully clever he was; and from the way he stood with his hands in his side pockets she could see how manly and brave he must be; and of course there was firmness and strength written all over him.

In short, she saw as she looked such a Peter Spillikins as truly never existed, or could exist--or at least such a Peter Spillikins as no one else in the world had ever suspected before.
All in a moment she was ever so glad that she accepted Mrs.Newberry's invitation to Castel Casteggio and hadn't been afraid to come.