It was a genuine
tenderness, an artless admiration, equally strong in each. They even
praised his beauty, which was small, and were as afraid of him as if they
felt him of finer clay. They spoke of him as a little angel and a
prodigy--they touched on his want of health with long vague faces.
Pemberton feared at first an extravagance that might make him hate the
boy, but before this happened he had become extravagant himself. Later,
when he had grown rather to hate the others, it was a bribe to patience
for him that they were at any rate nice about Morgan, going on tiptoe if
they fancied he was showing symptoms, and even giving up somebody's "day"
to procure him a pleasure. Mixed with this too was the oddest wish to
make him independent, as if they had felt themselves not good enough for
him. They passed him over to the new members of their circle very much
as if wishing to force some charity of adoption on so free an agent and
get rid of their own charge. They were delighted when they saw Morgan
take so to his kind playfellow, and could think of no higher praise for
the young man.
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