What Maisie Knew

'I'm assured he's not at home,' Sir Claude replied to the child; 'but if he had been I should have hoped for the pleasure of seeing him.'

'Won't he mind your coming?' Maisie asked as with need of the knowledge.

'Oh you bad little girl!' Mrs. Beale humorously protested.

The child could see that at this Sir Claude, though still moved to mirth, coloured a little; but he spoke to her very kindly. 'That's just what I came to see, you know—whether your father would mind. But Mrs. Beale appears strongly of the opinion that he won't.'

This lady promptly justified that view to her stepdaughter. 'It will be very interesting, my dear, you know, to find out what it is to-day that your father does mind. I'm sure I don't know!'—and she seemed to repeat, though with perceptible resignation, her plaint of a moment before. 'Your father, darling, is a very odd person indeed.' She turned with this, smiling, to Sir Claude. 'But perhaps it's hardly civil for me to say that of his not objecting to have you in the house. If you knew some of the people he does have!'

Maisie knew them all, and none indeed were to be compared to Sir Claude. He laughed back at Mrs. Beale; he looked at such moments quite as Mrs. Wix, in the long stories she told her pupil, always described the lovers of her distressed beauties—'the perfect gentleman and strikingly handsome.' He got up, to the child's regret, as if he were going. 'Oh I dare say we should be all right!'

Mrs. Beale once more gathered in her little charge, holding her close and looking thoughtfully over her head at their visitor. 'It's so charming—for a man of your type—to have wanted her so much!'

'What do you know about my type?' Sir Claude laughed. 'Whatever it may be I dare say it deceives you. The truth about me is simply that I'm the most unappreciated of—what do you call the fellows?—'family-men.' Yes, I'm a family-man; upon my honour I am!'

'Then why on earth,' cried Mrs. Beale, 'didn't you marry a family-woman?'

Sir Claude looked at her hard. 'You know who one marries, I think. Besides, there are no family-women—hanged if there are! None of them want any children—hanged if they do!'

His account of the matter was most interesting, and Maisie, as if it were of bad omen for her, stared at the picture in some dismay. At the same time she felt, through encircling arms, her protectress hesitate. 'You do come out with things! But you mean her ladyship doesn't want any—really?'

'Won't hear of them—simply. But she can't help the one she has got.' And with this Sir Claude's eyes rested on the little girl in a way that seemed to her to mask her mother's attitude with the consciousness of his own. 'She must make the best of her, don't you see? If only for the look of the thing, don't you know? one wants one's wife to take the proper line about her child.'

'Oh I know what one wants!' Mrs. Beale cried with a competence that evidently impressed her interlocutor.

'Well, if you keep him up—and I dare say you've had worry enough—why shouldn't I keep Ida? What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander—or the other way round, don't you know? I mean to see the thing through.'

Mrs. Beale, for a minute, still with her eyes on him as he leaned upon the chimneypiece, appeared to turn this over. 'You're just a wonder of kindness—that's what you are!' she said at last. 'A lady's expected to have natural feelings. But your horrible sex—! Isn't it a horrible sex, little love?' she demanded with her cheek upon her stepdaughter's.

'Oh I like gentlemen best,' Maisie lucidly replied.

The words were taken up merrily. 'That's a good one for you!' Sir Claude exclaimed to Mrs. Beale.

'No,' said that lady: 'I've only to remember the women she sees at her mother's.'

'Ah they're very nice now,' Sir Claude returned.

'What do you call 'nice'?'

'Well, they're all right.'

'That doesn't answer me,' said Mrs. Beale; 'but I dare say you do take care of them. That makes you more of an angel to want this job too.' And she playfully whacked her smaller companion.

'I'm not an angel—I'm an old grandmother,' Sir Claude declared. 'I like babies—I always did. If we go to smash I shall look for a place as responsible nurse.'

Maisie, in her charmed mood, drank in an imputation on her years which at another moment might have been bitter; but the charm was sensibly interrupted by Mrs. Beale's screwing her round and gazing fondly into her eyes, 'You're willing to leave me, you wretch?'

The little girl deliberated; even this consecrated tie had become as a cord she must suddenly snap. But she snapped it very gently. 'Isn't it my turn for mamma?'

'You're a horrible little hypocrite! The less, I think, now said about 'turns' the better,' Mrs. Beale made answer. 'I know whose turn it is. You've not such a passion for your mother!'

'I say, I say: do look out!' Sir Claude quite amiably protested.

'There's nothing she hasn't heard. But it doesn't matter—it hasn't spoiled her. If you knew what it costs me to part with you!' she pursued to Maisie.

Sir Claude watched her as she charmingly clung to the child. 'I'm so glad you really care for her. That's so much to the good.'

Mrs. Beale slowly got up, still with her hands on Maisie, but emitting a soft exhalation. 'Well, if you're glad, that may help us; for I assure you that I shall never give up any rights in her that I may consider I've acquired by my own sacrifices. I shall hold very fast to my interest in her. What seems to have happened is that she has brought you and me together.'