"I haven't time to do things properly," Pemberton went on. Then as it came over him that he was almost abjectly good-natured to give these explanations he added: "If I stay on longer it must be on one condition—that Morgan shall know distinctly on what footing I am."
Mrs. Moreen hesitated. "Surely you don't want to show off to a child?"
"To show you off, do you mean?"
Again Mrs. Moreen hesitated, but this time it was to produce a still finer flower. "And you talk of blackmail!"
"You can easily prevent it," said Pemberton.
"And you talk of practicing on fears," Mrs. Moreen continued.
"Yes, there's no doubt I'm a great scoundrel."
His visitor looked at him a moment—it was evident that she was sorely bothered. Then she thrust out her money at him. "Mr. Moreen desired me to give you this on account."
"I'm much obliged to Mr. Moreen; but we have no account."
"You won't take it?"
"That leaves me more free," said Pemberton.
"To poison my darling's mind?" groaned Mrs. Moreen.
"Oh, your darling's mind!" laughed the young man. She fixed him a moment, and he thought she was going to break out tormentedly, pleadingly. "For God's sake, tell me what is in it!" But she checked this impulse—another was stronger. She pocketed the money—the crudity of the alternative was comical—and swept out of the room with the desperate concession: "You may tell him any horror you like!"
