What Maisie Knew

her moral sense. The only thing was the old flat shameful schoolroom plea. 'I don't know—I don't know.'

'Then you've lost it.' Mrs. Wix seemed to close the book as she fixed the straighteners on Sir Claude. 'You've nipped it in the bud. You've killed it when it had begun to live.'

She was a newer Mrs. Wix than ever, a Mrs. Wix high and great; but Sir Claude was not after all to be treated as a little boy with a missed lesson. 'I've not killed anything,' he said; 'on the contrary I think I've produced life. I don't know what to call it—I haven't even known how decently to deal with it, to approach it; but, whatever it is, it's the most beautiful thing I've ever met—it's exquisite, it's sacred.' He had his hands in his pockets and, though a trace of the sickness he had just shown perhaps lingered there, his face bent itself with extraordinary gentleness on both the friends he was about to lose. 'Do you know what I came back for?' he asked of the elder.

'I think I do!' cried Mrs. Wix, surprisingly un-mollified and with the heat of her late engagement with Mrs. Beale still on her brow. That lady, as if a little besprinkled by such turns of the tide, uttered a loud inarticulate protest and, averting herself, stood a moment at the window.

'I came back with a proposal,' said Sir Claude.

'To me?' Mrs. Wix asked.

'To Maisie. That she should give you up.'

'And does she?'

Sir Claude wavered. 'Tell her!' he then exclaimed to the child, also turning away as if to give her the chance. But Mrs. Wix and her pupil stood confronted in silence, Maisie whiter than ever—more awkward, more rigid and yet more dumb. They looked at each other hard, and as nothing came from them Sir Claude faced about again. 'You won't tell her?—you can't?' Still she said nothing; whereupon, addressing Mrs. Wix, he broke into a kind of ecstasy. 'She refused—she refused!'

Maisie, at this, found her voice. 'I didn't refuse. I didn't,' she repeated.

It brought Mrs. Beale straight back to her. 'You accepted, angel—you accepted!' She threw herself upon the child and, before Maisie could resist, had sunk with her upon the sofa, possessed of her, encircling her. 'You've given her up already, you've given her up for ever, and you're ours and ours only now, and the sooner she's off the better!'

Maisie had shut her eyes, but at a word of Sir Claude's they opened. 'Let her go!' he said to Mrs. Beale.

'Never, never, never!' cried Mrs. Beale. Maisie felt herself more compressed.

'Let her go!' Sir Claude more intensely repeated. He was looking at Mrs. Beale and there was something in his voice. Maisie knew from a loosening of arms that she had become conscious of what it was; she slowly rose from the sofa, and the child stood there again dropped and divided. 'You're free—you're free,' Sir Claude went on; at which Maisie's back became aware of a push that vented resentment and that placed her again in the centre of the room, the cynosure of every eye and not knowing which way to turn.

She turned with an effort to Mrs. Wix. 'I didn't refuse to give you up. I said I would if he'd give up—'

'Give up Mrs. Beale?' burst from Mrs. Wix.

'Give up Mrs. Beale. What do you call that but exquisite?' Sir Claude demanded of all of them, the lady mentioned included; speaking with a relish as intense now as if some lovely work of art or of nature had suddenly been set down among them. He was rapidly recovering himself on this basis of fine appreciation. 'She made her condition—with such a sense of what it should be! She made the only right one.'

'The only right one?'—Mrs. Beale returned to the charge. She had taken a moment before a snub from him, but she was not to be snubbed on this. 'How can you talk such rubbish and how can you back her up in such impertinence? What in the world have you done to her to make her think of such stuff?' She stood there in righteous wrath; she flashed her eyes round the circle. Maisie took them full in her own, knowing that here at last was the moment she had had most to reckon with. But as regards her stepdaughter Mrs. Beale subdued herself to a question deeply mild. 'Have you made, my own love, any such condition as that?'

Somehow, now that it was there, the great moment was not so bad. What helped the child was that she knew what she wanted. All her learning and learning had made her at last learn that; so that if she waited an instant to reply it was only from the desire to be nice. Bewilderment had simply gone or at any rate was going fast. Finally she answered. 'Will you give him up? Will you?'

'Ah leave her alone—leave her, leave her!' Sir Claude in sudden supplication murmured to Mrs. Beale.

Mrs. Wix at the same instant found another apostrophe. 'Isn't it enough for you, madam, to have brought her to discussing your relations?'

Mrs. Beale left Sir Claude unheeded, but Mrs. Wix could make her flame. 'My relations? What do you know, you hideous creature, about my relations, and what business on earth have you to speak of them? Leave the room this instant, you horrible old woman!'

'I think you had better go—you must really catch your boat,' Sir Claude said distressfully to Mrs. Wix. He was out of it now, or wanted to be; he knew the worst and had accepted it: what now concerned him was to prevent, to dissipate vulgarities. 'Won't you go—won't you just get off quickly?'

'With the child as quickly as you like. Not without her.' Mrs. Wix was adamant.

'Then why did you lie to me, you fiend?' Mrs. Beale almost yelled. 'Why did you tell me an hour ago that you had given her up?'

'Because I despaired of her—because I thought she had left me.' Mrs. Wix turned to Maisie. 'You were with them—in their connexion. But now your eyes are open, and I take you!'

'No you don't!' and Mrs. Beale made, with a great fierce jump, a wild snatch at her stepdaughter. She caught her by the arm and, completing an instinctive movement, whirled her round in a further leap to the door, which had been closed by Sir Claude the instant their voices had risen. She fell back against it and, even while denouncing and waving off Mrs. Wix, kept it closed in an incoherence of passion. 'You don't take her, but you bundle yourself: she stays with her own people and she's rid of you! I never heard anything so monstrous!' Sir Claude had rescued Maisie and kept hold of her; he held her in front of him, resting his hands very lightly on her shoulders and facing the loud adversaries. Mrs. Beale's flush had dropped; she had turned pale with a splendid wrath. She kept protesting and dismissing Mrs. Wix; she glued her back to the door to prevent Maisie's flight; she drove out Mrs. Wix by the window or the chimney. 'You're a nice one—'discussing relations'—with your talk of our 'connexion' and your