heed to his last remark; he only went on: "I'd have
spoken to them about their idea, as I call it, long ago, if I hadn't been
sure what they'd say."

"And what would they say?"

"Just what they said about what poor Zenobie told me--that it was a
horrid dreadful story, that they had paid her every penny they owed her."

"Well, perhaps they had," said Pemberton.

"Perhaps they've paid you!"

"Let us pretend they have, and n'en parlons plus."

"They accused her of lying and cheating"--Morgan stuck to historic truth.
"That's why I don't want to speak to them."

"Lest they should accuse me, too?" To this Morgan made no answer, and
his companion, looking down at him--the boy turned away his eyes, which
had filled--saw what he couldn't have trusted himself to utter. "You're
right. Don't worry them," Pemberton pursued. "Except for that, they
_are_ charming people."

"Except for _their_ lying and _their_ cheating?"

"I say--I say!" cried Pemberton, imitating a little tone of the lad's
which was itself an imitation.

"We must be frank, at the last; we _must_ come to an understanding," said
Morgan with the importance of the small boy who lets himself think he is
arranging great affairs--almost playing at shipwreck or at Indians. "I
know all about everything."

"I dare say your father has his reasons,'' Pemberton replied, but too
vaguely, as he was aware.

"For lying and cheating?"

"For saving and managing and turning his means to the best account. He
has plenty to do with his money. You're an expensive family."

"Yes, I'm very expensive," Morgan concurred in a manner that made his
preceptor burst out laughing.

"He's saving for _you_," said Pemberton. "They think of you in
everything they do."

"He might, while he's about it, save a little--" The boy paused, and his
friend waited to hear what. Then Morgan brought out oddly: "A little
reputation."

"Oh there's plenty of that. That's all right!"

"Enough of it for the people they know, no doubt. The people they know
are awful."

"Do you mean the princes? We mustn't abuse the princes."

"Why not? They haven't married Paula--they haven't married Amy. They
only clean out Ulick."

"You _do_ know everything!" Pemberton declared.

"No, I don't, after all. I don't know what they live on, or how they
live, or _why_ they live! What have they got and how did they get it?
Are they rich, are they poor, or have they a modeste aisance? Why are
they