Moreen and herself so much more free to give the proper
attention (too little, alas! had been given) to the readjustment of their
affairs.
"We trust you--we feel we _can_," said Mrs. Moreen, slowly rubbing her
plump white hands and looking with compunction hard at Morgan, whose
chin, not to take liberties, her husband stroked with a paternal
forefinger.
"Oh yes--we feel that we _can_. We trust Mr. Pemberton fully, Morgan,"
Mr. Moreen pursued.
Pemberton wondered again if he might pretend not to understand; but
everything good gave way to the intensity of Morgan's understanding. "Do
you mean he may take me to live with him for ever and ever?" cried the
boy. "May take me away, away, anywhere he likes?"
"For ever and ever? Comme vous-y-allez!" Mr. Moreen laughed indulgently.
"For as long as Mr. Pemberton may be so good."
"We've struggled, we've suffered," his wife went on; "but you've made him
so your own that we've already been through the worst of the sacrifice."
Morgan had turned away from his father--he stood looking at Pemberton
with a light in his face.
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