He had known the poor
child was not robust: this was the basis on which he had been invited to
treat, through an English lady, an Oxford acquaintance, then at Nice, who
happened to know both his needs and those of the amiable American family
looking out for something really superior in the way of a resident tutor.
The young man's impression of his prospective pupil, who had come into
the room as if to see for himself the moment Pemberton was admitted, was
not quite the soft solicitation the visitor had taken for granted. Morgan
Moreen was somehow sickly without being "delicate," and that he looked
intelligent--it is true Pemberton wouldn't have enjoyed his being
stupid--only added to the suggestion that, as with his big mouth and big
ears he really couldn't be called pretty, he might too utterly fail to
please. Pemberton was modest, was even timid; and the chance that his
small scholar might prove cleverer than himself had quite figured, to his
anxiety, among the dangers of an untried experiment.
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