Chapter 3 - Page 2

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?"

"Till you're fairly beaten."

"_You_ ought to be fairly beaten!" cried the young man, drawing him
closer.