"Why after all should we have to choose between you? Why shouldn't we be four?" she finally demanded.

Mrs. Wix gave the jerk of a sleeper awakened or the start even of one who hears a bullet whiz at the flag of truce. Her stupefaction at such a breach of the peace delayed for a moment her answer. "Four improprieties, do you mean? Because two of us happen to be decent people! Do I gather you to wish that I should stay on with you even if that woman IS capable--?"

Maisie took her up before she could further phrase Mrs. Beale's capability. "Stay on as MY companion--yes. Stay on as just what you were at mamma's. Mrs. Beale WOULD let you!" the child said.

Mrs. Wix had by this time fairly sprung to her arms. "And who, I'd like to know, would let Mrs. Beale? Do you mean, little unfortunate, that YOU would?"

"Why not, if now she's free?"

"Free? Are you imitating HIM? Well, if Sir Claude's old enough to know better, upon my word I think it's right to treat you as if you also were. You'll have to, at any rate--to know better--if that's the line you're proposing to take." Mrs. Wix had never been so harsh; but on the other hand Maisie could guess that she herself had never appeared so wanton. What was underlying, however, rather overawed than angered her; she felt she could still insist--not for contradiction, but for ultimate calm. Her wantonness meanwhile continued to work upon her friend, who caught again, on the rebound, the sound of deepest provocation. "Free, free, free? If she's as free as YOU are, my dear, she's free enough, to be sure!"

"As I am?"--Maisie, after reflexion and despite whatever of portentous this seemed to convey, risked a critical echo.

"Well," said Mrs. Wix, "n.o.body, you know, is free to commit a crime."

"A crime!" The word had come out in a way that made the child sound it again.

"You'd commit as great a one as their own--and so should I--if we were to condone their immorality by our presence."

Maisie waited a little; this seemed so fiercely conclusive. "Why is it immorality?" she nevertheless presently enquired.

Her companion now turned upon her with a reproach softer because it was somehow deeper. "You're too unspeakable! Do you know what we're talking about?"

In the interest of ultimate calm Maisie felt that she must be above all clear. "Certainly; about their taking advantage of their freedom."

"Well, to do what?"

"Why, to live with us."

Mrs. Wix's laugh, at this, was literally wild. "'Us?' Thank you!"

"Then to live with ME."

The words made her friend jump. "You give me up? You break with me for ever? You turn me into the street?"

Maisie, though gasping a little, bore up under the rain of challenges.

"Those, it seems to me, are the things you do to ME."

Mrs. Wix made little of her valour. "I can promise you that, whatever I do, I shall never let you out of my sight! You ask me why it's immorality when you've seen with your own eyes that Sir Claude has felt it to be so to that dire extent that, rather than make you face the shame of it, he has for months kept away from you altogether? Is it any more difficult to see that the first time he tries to do his duty he washes his hands of HER--takes you straight away from her?"

Maisie turned this over, but more for apparent consideration than from any impulse to yield too easily. "Yes, I see what you mean. But at that time they weren't free." She felt Mrs. Wix rear up again at the offensive word, but she succeeded in touching her with a remonstrant hand. "I don't think you know how free they've become."

"I know, I believe, at least as much as you do!"

Maisie felt a delicacy but overcame it. "About the Countess?"

"Your father's--temptress?" Mrs. Wix gave her a sidelong squint.

"Perfectly. She pays him!"

"Oh DOES she?" At this the child's countenance fell: it seemed to give a reason for papa's behaviour and place it in a more favourable light. She wished to be just. "I don't say she's not generous. She was so to me."

"How, to you?"

"She gave me a lot of money."

Mrs. Wix stared. "And pray what did you do with a lot of money?"

"I gave it to Mrs. Beale."

"And what did Mrs. Beale do with it?"

"She sent it back."

"To the Countess? Gammon!" said Mrs. Wix. She disposed of that plea as effectually as Susan Ash.

"Well, I don't care!" Maisie replied. "What I mean is that you don't know about the rest."

"The rest? What rest?"

Maisie wondered how she could best put it. "Papa kept me there an hour."

"I do know--Sir Claude told me. Mrs. Beale had told him."

Maisie looked incredulity. "How could she--when I didn't speak of it?"

Mrs. Wix was mystified. "Speak of what?"

"Why, of her being so frightful."

"The Countess? Of course she's frightful!" Mrs. Wix returned. After a moment she added: "That's why she pays him."

Maisie pondered. "It's the best thing about her then--if she gives him as much as she gave ME!"

"Well, it's not the best thing about HIM! Or rather perhaps it IS too!"

Mrs. Wix subjoined.

"But she's awful--really and truly," Maisie went on.

Mrs. Wix arrested her. "You needn't go into details!" It was visibly at variance with this injunction that she yet enquired: "How does that make it any better?"

"Their living with me? Why for the Countess--and for her whiskers!--he has put me off on them. I understood him," Maisie profoundly said.

"I hope then he understood you. It's more than I do!" Mrs. Wix admitted.

This was a real challenge to be plainer, and our young lady immediately became so. "I mean it isn't a crime."

"Why then did Sir Claude steal you away?"

"He didn't steal--he only borrowed me. I knew it wasn't for long,"