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"Well, I know I'm supposed to instruct you in virtue; but in that

case don't do right."



"'You're very young - fortunately," Morgan went on, turning to him

again.



"Oh yes, compared with you!"

"Therefore it won't matter so much if you do lose a lot of time."



"That's the way to look at it," said Pemberton accommodatingly.

They were silent a minute; after which the boy asked: "Do you like



my father and my mother very much?"

"Dear me, yes. They're charming people."



Morgan received this with another silence; then unexpectedly,

familiarly, but at the same time affectionately, he remarked:



"You're a jolly old humbug!"

For a particular reason the words made our young man change colour.



The boy noticed in an instant that he had turned red, whereupon he

turned red himself and pupil and master exchanged a longish glance



in which there was a consciousness" target="_blank" title="n.意识;觉悟;知觉">consciousness of many more things than are

usually touched upon, even tacitly, in such a relation. It



produced for Pemberton an embarrassment; it raised in a shadowy

form a question - this was the first glimpse of it - destined to



play a singular and, as he imagined, owing to the altogether

peculiar conditions, an unprecedented part in his intercourse with



his little companion. Later, when he found himself talking with

the youngster in a way in which few youngsters could ever have been



talked with, he thought of that clumsy moment on the bench at Nice

as the dawn of an understanding that had broadened. What had added



to the clumsiness then was that he thought it his duty to declare

to Morgan that he might abuse him, Pemberton, as much as he liked,



but must never abuse his parents. To this Morgan had the easy

retort that he hadn't dreamed of abusing them; which appeared to be



true: it put Pemberton in the wrong.

"Then why am I a humbug for saying I think them charming?" the



young man asked, conscious of a certain rashness.

"Well - they're not your parents."



"They love you better than anything in the world - never forget

that," said Pemberton.



"Is that why you like them so much?"

"They're very kind to me," Pemberton replied evasively.



"You ARE a humbug!" laughed Morgan, passing an arm into his

tutor's. He leaned against him looking oft at the sea again and



swinging his long thin legs.

"Don't kick my shins," said Pemberton while he reflected "Hang it,



I can't complain of them to the child!"

"There's another reason, too," Morgan went on, keeping his legs



still.

"Another reason for what?"



"Besides their not being your parents."

"I don't understand you," said Pemberton.



"Well, you will before long. All right!"

He did understand fully before long, but he made a fight even with



himself before he confessed it. He thought it the oddest thing to

have a struggle with the child about. He wondered he didn't hate



the hope of the Moreens for bringing the struggle on. But by the

time it began any such sentiment for that scion was closed to him.



Morgan was a special case, and to know him was to accept him on his

own odd terms. Pemberton had spent his aversion to special cases



before arriving at knowledge. When at last he did arrive his

quandary was great. Against every interest he had attached



himself. They would have to meet things together. Before they

went home that evening at Nice the boy had said, clinging to his



arm:

"Well, at any rate you'll hang on to the last."



"To the last?"




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