Mr. Moreen would never consent--it would be so _very_ hand-to-mouth,"
Pemberton's hostess beautifully explained to him. Then to Morgan she
made it clearer: "It would destroy our peace, it would break our hearts.
Now that he's back it will be all the same again. You'll have your life,
your work and your freedom, and we'll all be happy as we used to be.
You'll bloom and grow perfectly well, and we won't have any more silly
experiments, will we? They're too absurd. It's Mr. Pemberton's
place--every one in his place. You in yours, your papa in his, me in
mine--n'est-ce pas, cheri? We'll all forget how foolish we've been and
have lovely times."

She continued to talk and to surge vaguely about the little draped stuffy
salon while Pemberton sat with the boy, whose colour gradually came back;
and she mixed up her reasons, hinting that there were going to be
changes, that the other children might scatter (who knew?--Paula had her
ideas) and that then it might be fancied how much the poor old parent-
birds would want the little nestling. Morgan looked at Pemberton, who
wouldn't let him move; and Pemberton knew exactly how he felt at hearing
himself called a little nestling. He admitted that he had had one or two
bad days, but he protested afresh against the wrong of his mother's
having made them the ground of an appeal to poor Pemberton. Poor
Pemberton could laugh now, apart from the comicality of Mrs. Moreen's
mustering so much philosophy for her defence--she seemed to shake it out
of her agitated petticoats, which knocked over the light gilt chairs--so
little did their young companion, _marked_, unmistakeably marked at the
best, strike him as qualified to repudiate any advantage.

He himself was in for it at any rate. He should have Morgan on his hands
again indefinitely; though indeed he saw the lad had a private theory to
produce which would be intended to smooth this down. He was obliged to