The storm had come--they were all seeking
refuge. The hatches were down, Paula and Amy were invisible--they had
never tried the most casual art upon Pemberton, but he felt they had
enough of an eye to him not to wish to meet him as young ladies whose
frocks had been confiscated--and Ulick appeared to have jumped overboard.
The host and his staff, in a word, had ceased to "go on" at the pace of
their guests, and the air of embarrassed detention, thanks to a pile of
gaping trunks in the passage, was strangely commingled with the air of
indignant withdrawal. When Morgan took all this in--and he took it in
very quickly--he coloured to the roots of his hair. He had walked from
his infancy among difficulties and dangers, but he had never seen a
public exposure. Pemberton noticed in a second glance at him that the
tears had rushed into his eyes and that they were tears of a new and
untasted bitterness. He wondered an instant, for the boy's sake, whether
he might successfully pretend not to understand.
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