"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 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 Pemberton change colour. The boy noticed in an instant that he had turned red, whereupon he turned red himself and the pupil and the master exchanged a longish glance in which there was a 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), which was destined to play as 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 this small boy in a way in which few small boys 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
