ny things that--dash it too!--it didn't make any
clearer. This episode of his second sojourn in Paris stretched itself
out wearily, with their resumed readings and wanderings and maunderings,
their potterings on the quays, their hauntings of the museums, their
occasional lingerings in the Palais Royal when the first sharp weather
came on and there was a comfort in warm emanations, before Chevet's
wonderful succulent window. Morgan wanted to hear all about the opulent
youth--he took an immense interest in him. Some of the details of his
opulence--Pemberton could spare him none of them--evidently fed the boy's
appreciation of all his friend had given up to come back to him; but in
addition to the greater reciprocity established by that heroism he had
always his little brooding theory, in which there was a frivolous gaiety
too, that their long probation was drawing to a close. Morgan's
conviction that the Moreens couldn't go on much longer kept pace with the
unexpended impetus with which, from month to month, they did go on. Three
weeks after Pemberton had rejoined them they went on to another hotel, a
dingier one than the first; but Morgan rejoiced that his tutor had at
least still not sacrificed the advantage of a room outside. He clung to
the romantic utility of this when the day, or rather the night, should
arrive for their escape.

For the first time, in this complicated connexion, our friend felt his
collar gall him. It was, as he had said to Mrs. Moreen in Venice, trop
fort--everything was trop fort. He could neither really throw off his
blighting burden nor find in it the benefit of a pacified conscience or
of a rewarded affection. He had spent all the money accruing to him in
England, and he saw his youth going and that he was getting nothing back
for it. It was all very well of Morgan to count it for reparation that
he should now settle on him permanently--there was an irritating flaw in
such a view. He saw what the boy had in his mind; the conception that as
his friend had had the generosity to come back he must show his gratitude
by giving him his life. But the poor friend didn't desire the gift--what
could he do with Morgan's dreadful little life? Of course at the same
time that Pemberton was irritated he remembered the reason, which was
very honourable to Morgan and which dwelt simply in his making one so
forget that he was no more than a patched urchin. If one dealt with him
on a different basis