"Why he'd be alone with _you_."

"And pray with whom _should_ a child be but with those whom he loves
most?"

"If you think that, why don't you dismiss me?"

"Do you pretend he loves you more than he loves _us_?" cried Mrs. Moreen.

"I think he ought to. I make sacrifices for him. Though I've heard of
those _you_ make I don't see them."

Mrs. Moreen stared a moment; then with emotion she grasped her inmate's
hand. "_Will_ you make it--the sacrifice?"

He burst out laughing. "I'll see. I'll do what I can. I'll stay a
little longer. Your calculation's just--I _do_ hate intensely to give
him up; I'm fond of him and he thoroughly interests me, in spite of the
inconvenience I suffer. You know my situation perfectly. I haven't a
penny in the world and, occupied as you see me with Morgan, am unable to
earn money."

Mrs. Moreen tapped her undressed arm with her folded bank-note. "Can't
you write articles? Can't you translate as _I_ do?"

"I don't know about translating; it's wretchedly paid."

"I'm glad to earn what I can," said Mrs. Moreen with prodigious virtue.

"You ought to tell me who you do it for." Pemberton paused a moment, and