used　to　say　to　Pemberton　with　the　humour　that　made　his　queer
  delicacies　manly　…　to　carry　themselves　with　an　air。　　But　their　one
  idea　was　to　get　in　with　people　who　didn't　want　them　and　to　take
  snubs　as　it　they　were　honourable　scars。　　Why　people　didn't　want
  them　more　he　didn't　know　…　that　was　people's　own　affair；　after　all
  they　weren't　superficially　repulsive；　they　were　a　hundred　times
  cleverer　than　most　of　the　dreary　grandees；　the　〃poor　swells〃　they
  rushed　about　Europe　to　catch　up　with。　　〃After　all　they　ARE　amusing
  …　they　are！〃　he　used　to　pronounce　with　the　wisdom　of　the　ages。　　To
  which　Pemberton　always　replied：　　〃Amusing　…　the　great　Moreen
  troupe？　　Why　they're　altogether　delightful；　and　if　it　weren't　for
  the　hitch　that　you　and　I　（feeble　performers！）　make　in　the　ensemble
  they'd　carry　everything　before　them。〃
  What　the　boy　couldn't　get　over　was　the　fact　that　this　particular
  blight　seemed；　in　a　tradition　of　self…respect；　so　undeserved　and　so
  arbitrary。　　No　doubt　people　had　a　right　to　take　the　line　they
  liked；　but　why　should　his　people　have　liked　the　line　of　pushing　and
  toadying　and　lying　and　cheating？　　What　had　their　forefathers　…　all
  decent　folk；　so　far　as　he　knew　…　done　to　them；　or　what　had　he　done
  to　them？　　Who　had　poisoned　their　blood　with　the　fifth…rate　social
  ideal；　the　fixed　idea　of　making　smart　acquaintances　and　getting
  into　the　monde　chic；　especially　when　it　was　foredoomed　to　failure
  and　exposure？　　They　showed　so　what　they　were　after；　that　was　what
  made　the　people　they　wanted　not　want　THEM。　　And　never　a　wince　for
  dignity；　never　a　throb　of　shame　at　looking　each　other　in　the　face；
  never　any　independence　or　resentment　or　disgust。　　If　his　father　or
  his　brother　would　only　knock　some　one　down　once　or　twice　a　year！
  Clever　as　they　were　they　never　guessed　the　impression　they　made。
  They　were　good…natured；　yes　…　as　good…natured　as　Jews　at　the　doors
  of　clothing…shops！　　But　was　that　the　model　one　wanted　one's　family
  to　follow？　　Morgan　had　dim　memories　of　an　old　grandfather；　the
  maternal；　in　New　York；　whom　he　had　been　taken　across　the　ocean　at
  the　age　of　five　to　see：　　a　gentleman　with　a　high　neck…cloth　and　a
  good　deal　of　pronunciation；　who　wore　a　dress…coat　in　the　morning；
  which　made　one　wonder　what　he　wore　in　the　evening；　and　had；　or　was
  supposed　to　have　〃property〃　and　something　to　do　with　the　Bible
  Society。　　It　couldn't　have　been　but　that　he　was　a　good　type。
  Pemberton　himself　remembered　Mrs。　Clancy；　a　widowed　sister　of　Mr。
  Moreen's；　who　was　as　irritating　as　a　moral　tale　and　had　paid　a
  fortnight's　visit　to　the　family　at　Nice　shortly　after　he　came　to
  live　with　them。　　She　was　〃pure　and　refined；〃　as　Amy　said　over　the
  banjo；　and　had　the　air　of　not　knowing　what　they　meant　when　they
  talked；　and　of　keeping　something　rather　important　back。　　Pemberton
  judged　that　what　she　kept　back　was　an　approval　of　many　of　their
  ways；　therefore　it　was　to　be　supposed　that　she　too　was　of　a　good
  type；　and　that　Mr。　and　Mrs。　Moreen　and　Ulick　and　Paula　and　Amy
  might　easily　have　been　of　a　better　one　if　they　would。
  But　that　they　wouldn't　was　more　and　more　perceptible　from　day　to
  day。　　They　continued　to　〃chivey；〃　as　Morgan　called　it；　and　in　due
  time　became　aware　of　a　variety　of　reasons　for　proceeding　to　Venice。
  They　mentioned　a　great　many　of　them　…　they　were　always　strikingly
  frank　and　had　the　brightest　friendly　chatter；　at　the　late　foreign
  breakfast　in　especial；　before　the　ladies　had　made　up　their　faces；
  when　they　leaned　their　arms　on　the　table；　had　something　to　follow
  the　demitasse；　and；　in　the　heat　of　familiar　discussion　as　to　what
  they　〃really　ought〃　to　do；　fell　inevitably　into　the　languages　in
  which　they　could　tutoyer。　　Even　Pemberton　liked　them　then；　he　could
  endure　even　Ulick　when　he　heard　him　give　his　little　flat　voice　for
  the　〃sweet　sea…city。〃　　That　was　what　made　him　have　a　sneaking
  kindness　for　them　…　that　they　were　so　out　of　the　workaday　world　and
  kept　him　so　out　of　it。　　The　summer　had　waned　when；　with　cries　of
  ecstasy；　they　all　passed　out　on　the　balcony　that　overhung　the　Grand
  Canal。　　The　sunsets　then　were　splendid　and　the　Dorringtons　had
  arrived。　　The　Dorringtons　were　the　only　reason　they　hadn't　talked
  of　at　breakfast；　but　the　reasons　they　didn't　talk　of　at　breakfast
  always　came　out　in　the　end。　　The　Dorringtons　on　the　other　hand　came
  out　very　little；　or　else　when　they　did　they　stayed　…　as　was　natural
  …　for　hours；　during　which　periods　Mrs。　Moreen　and　the　girls
  sometimes　called　at　their　hotel　（to　see　if　they　had　returned）　as
  many　as　three　times　running。　　The　gondola　was　for　the　ladies；　as　in
  Venice　too　there　were　〃days；〃　which　Mrs。　Moreen　knew　in　their　order
  an　hour　after　she　arrived。　　She　immediately　took　one　herself；　to
  which　the　Dorringtons　never　came；　though　on　a　certain　occasion　when
  Pemberton　and　his　pupil　were　together　at　St。　Mark's　…　where；　taking
  the　best　walks　they　had　ever　had　and　haunting　a　hundred　churches；
  they　spent　a　great　deal　of　time　…　they　saw　the　old　lord　turn　up
  with　Mr。　Moreen　and　Ulick；　who　showed　him　the　dim　basilica　as　if　it
  belonged　to　them。　　Pemberton　noted　how　much　less；　among　its
  curiosities；　Lord　Dorrington　carried　himself　as　a　man　of　the　world；
  wondering　too　whether；　for　such　services；　his　companions　took　a　fee
  from　him。　　The　autumn　at　any　rate　waned；　the　Dorringtons　departed；
  and　Lord　Verschoyle；　the　eldest　son；　had　proposed　neither　for　Amy
  nor　for　Paula。
  One　sad　November　day；　while　the　wind　roared　round　the　old　palace
  and　the　rain　lashed　the　lagoon；　Pemberton；　for　exercise　and　even
  somewhat　for　warmth　…　the　Moreens　were　horribly　frugal　about　fires；
  it　was　a　cause　of　suffering　to　their　inmate　…　walked　up　and　down
  the　big　bare　sala　with　his　pupil。　　The　scagliola　floor　was　cold；
  the　high　battered　casements　shook　in　the　storm；　and　the　stately
  decay　of　the　place　was　unrelieved　by　a　particle　of　furniture。
  Pemberton's　spirits　were　low；　and　it　came　over　him　that　the　fortune
  of　the　Moreens　was　now　even　lower。　　A　blast　of　desolation；　a
  portent　of　disgrace　and　disaster；　seemed　to　draw　through　the
  comfortless　hall。　　Mr。　Moreen　and　Ulick　were　in　the　Piazza；　looking
  out　for　something；　strolling　drearily；　in　mackintoshes；　under　the
  arcades；　but　still；　in　spite　of　mackintoshes；　unmistakeable　men　of
  the　world。　　Paula　and　Amy　were　in　bed　…　it　might　have　been　thought
  they　were　staying　there　to　keep　warm。　　Pemberton　looked　askance　at
  the　boy　at　his　side；　to　see　to　what　extent　he　was　conscious　of
  these　dark　omens。　　But　Morgan；　luckily　for　him；　was　now　mainly
  conscious　of　growing　taller　and　stronger　and　indeed　of　being　in　his
  fifteenth　year。　　This　fact　was　intensely　interesting　to　him　and　the
  basis　of　a　private　theory　…　which；　however；　he　had　imparted　to　his
  tutor　…　that　in　a　little　while　he　should　stand　on　his　own　feet。　　He
  considered　that　the　situation　would　change　…　that　in　short　he
  should　be　〃finished；〃　grown　up；　producible　in　the　world　of　affairs
  and　ready　to　prove　himself　of　sterling　ability。　　Sharply　as　he　was
  capable　at　times　of　analysing；　as　he　called　it；　his　life；　there
  were　happy　hours　when　he　remained；　as　he　also　called　it　…　and　as
  the　name；　really；　of　their　right　ideal　…　〃jolly〃　superficial；　the
  proof　of　which　was　his　fundamental　assumption　that　he　should
  presently　go　to　Oxford；　to　Pemberton's　college；　and；　aided　and
  abetted　by　Pemberton；　do　the　most　wonderful　things。　　It　depressed
  the　young　man　to　see　how　little　in　such　a　project　he　took　account
  of　ways　and　means：　　in　other　connexions　he　mostly　kept　to　the
  measure。　　Pemberton　tried　to　imagine　the　Moreens　at　Oxford　and
  fortunately　failed；　yet　unless　they　were　to　adopt　it　as　a　residence
  there　would　be　no　modus　vivendi　for　Morgan。　　How　could　he　live
  without　an　allowance；　and　where　was　the　allowance　to　come　from？
  He；　Pemberton；　might　live　on　Morgan；　but　how　could　Morgan　live　on
  HIM？　　What　was　to　become　of　him　anyhow？　　Somehow　the　fact　that　he
  was　a　big　boy　now；　with　better　prospects　of　health；　made　the
  question　of　his　future　more　difficult。　　So　long　as　he　was　markedly
  frail　the　great　consideration　he　inspired　seemed　enough　of　an
  answer　to　it。　　But　at　the　bottom　of　Pemberton's　heart　was　the
  recognition　of　his　probably　being　strong　enough　to　live　and　not　yet
  strong　enough　to　struggle　or　to　thrive。　　Morgan　himself　at　any　rate
  was　in　the　first　flush　of　the　rosiest　consciousness　of　adolescence；
  so　that　the　beating　of　the　tempest　seemed　to　him　after　all　but　the
  voice　of　life　and　the　challenge　of　fate。　　He　had　on　his　shabby
  little　overcoat；　with　the　collar　up；　but　was　enjoying　his　walk。
  It　was　interrupted　at　last　by　the　appearance　of　his　mother　at　the
  end　of　the　sala。　　She　beckoned　him　to　come　to　her；　and　while
  Pemberton　saw　him；　complaisant；　pass　down　the　long　vista　and　over
  the　damp　false　marble；　he　wondered　what　was　in　the　air。　　Mrs。
  Moreen　said　a　word　to　the　boy　and　made　him　go　into　the　room　she　had
  quitted。　　Then；　having　closed　the　door　after　him；　she　directed　her
  steps　swiftly