himself worthy to be her son's tutor and of the extraordinary confidence
they had placed in him.

After all, Pemberton reflected, it was only a difference of theory and
the theory didn't matter much. They had hitherto gone on that of
remunerated, as now they would go on that of gratuitous, service; but why
should they have so many words about it? Mrs. Moreen at all events
continued to be convincing; sitting there with her fifty francs she
talked and reiterated, as women reiterate, and bored and irritated him,
while he leaned against the wall with his hands in the pockets of his
wrapper, drawing it together round his legs and looking over the head of
his visitor at the grey negations of his window. She wound up with
saying: "You see I bring you a definite proposal."

"A definite proposal?"

"To make our relations regular, as it were--to put them on a comfortable
footing."

"I see--it's a system," said Pemberton. "A kind of organised blackmail."

Mrs. Moreen bounded up, which was exactly what he wanted. "What do you
mean by that?"

"You practise on one's fears--one's fears about the child if one should
go away."

"And pray what would happen to him in that event?" she demanded, with
majesty.