Poor
Pemberton could laugh now, apart from the comicality of Mrs. Moreen's
mustering so much philosophy for her defence--she seemed to shake it out
of her agitated petticoats, which knocked over the light gilt chairs--so
little did their young companion, _marked_, unmistakeably marked at the
best, strike him as qualified to repudiate any advantage.
He himself was in for it at any rate. He should have Morgan on his hands
again indefinitely; though indeed he saw the lad had a private theory to
produce which would be intended to smooth this down. He was obliged to
him for it in advance; but the suggested amendment didn't keep his heart
rather from sinking, any more than it prevented him from accepting the
prospect on the spot, with some confidence moreover that he should do so
even better if he could have a little supper. Mrs. Moreen threw out more
hints about the changes that were to be looked for, but she was such a
mixture of smiles and shudders--she confessed she was very nervous--that
he couldn't tell if she were in high feather or only in hysterics.
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