“They accused her of lying and cheating”—Morgan stuck to historic truth. “That’s why I don’t want to speak to them.”
“Lest they should accuse me, too?” To this Morgan made no answer, and his companion, looking down at him—the boy turned away his eyes, which had filled—saw what he couldn’t have trusted himself to utter. “You’re right. Don’t worry them,” Pemberton pursued. “Except for that, they are charming people.”
“Except for their lying and their cheating?”
“I say—I say!” cried Pemberton, imitating a little tone of the lad’s which was itself an imitation.
“We must be frank, at the last; we must come to an understanding,” said Morgan with the importance of the small boy who lets himself think he is arranging great affairs—almost playing at shipwreck or at Indians. “I know all about everything.”
“I dare say your father has his reasons,” Pemberton replied, but too vaguely, as he was aware.
“For lying and cheating?”
“For saving and managing and turning his means to the best account. He has plenty to do with his money. You’re an expensive family.”
“Yes, I’m very expensive,” Morgan concurred in a manner that made his preceptor burst out laughing.
“He’s saving for you,” said Pemberton. “They think of you in everything they do.”