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    Chapter 14

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    Chapter 15
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    Mrs Beale fairly swooped upon her and the effect of the whole hour was
    to show the child how much, how quite formidably indeed, after all, she
    was loved. This was the more the case as her stepmother, so changed--in
    the very manner of her mother--that she really struck her as a new
    acquaintance, somehow recalled more familiarity than Maisie could feel.
    A rich strong expressive affection in short pounced upon her in the
    shape of a handsomer, ampler, older Mrs. Beale. It was like making a
    fine friend, and they hadn't been a minute together before she felt
    elated at the way she had met the choice imposed on her in the cab.
    There was a whole future in the combination of Mrs. Beale's beauty and
    Mrs. Beale's hug. She seemed to Maisie charming to behold, and also to
    have no connexion at all with anybody who had once mended underclothing
    and had meals in the nursery. The child knew one of her father's wives
    was a woman of fashion, but she had always dimly made a distinction, not
    applying that epithet without reserve to the other. Mrs. Beale had since
    their separation acquired a conspicuous right to it, and Maisie's first
    flush of response to her present delight coloured all her splendour with
    meanings that this time were sweet. She had told Sir Claude she was
    afraid of the lady in the Regent's Park; but she had confidence enough
    to break on the spot, into the frankest appreciation. "Why, aren't you
    beautiful? Isn't she beautiful, Sir Claude, ISN'T she?"

    "The handsomest woman in London, simply," Sir Claude gallantly replied.
    "Just as sure as you're the best little girl!"

    Well, the handsomest woman in London gave herself up, with tender
    lustrous looks and every demonstration of fondness, to a happiness at
    last clutched again. There was almost as vivid a bloom in her maturity
    as in mamma's, and it took her but a short time to give her little
    friend an impression of positive power--an impression that seemed to
    begin like a long bright day. This was a perception on Maisie's part
    that neither mamma, nor Sir Claude, nor Mrs. Wix, with their immense and
    so varied respective attractions, had exactly kindled, and that made an
    immediate difference when the talk, as it promptly did, began to turn to
    her father. Oh yes, Mr. Farange was a complication, but she saw now that
    he wouldn't be one for his daughter. For Mrs. Beale certainly he was an
    immense one--she speedily made known as much; but Mrs. Beale from this
    moment presented herself to Maisie as a person to whom a great gift had
    come. The great gift was just for handling complications. Maisie felt
    how little she made of them when, after she had dropped to Sir Claude
    some recall of a previous meeting, he made answer, with a sound of
    consternation and yet an air of relief, that he had denied to their
    companion their having, since the day he came for her, seen each other
    till that moment.

    Mrs. Beale could but vaguely pity it. "Why did you do anything so
    silly?"

    "To protect your reputation."

    "From Maisie?" Mrs. Beale was much amused. "My reputation with Maisie is
    too good to suffer."

    "But you believed me, you rascal, didn't you?" Sir Claude asked of the
    child.

    She looked at him; she smiled. "Her reputation did suffer. I discovered
    you had been here."

    He was not too chagrined to laugh. "The way, my dear, you talk of that
    sort of thing!"

    "How should she talk," Mrs. Beale wanted to know, "after all this
    wretched time with her mother?"

    "It was not mamma who told me," Maisie explained. "It was only Mrs.
    Wix." She was hesitating whether to bring out before Sir Claude the
    source of Mrs. Wix's information; but Mrs. Beale, addressing the young
    man, showed the vanity of scruples.

    "Do you know that preposterous person came to see me a day or two
    ago?--when I told her I had seen you repeatedly."

    Sir Claude, for once in a way, was disconcerted. "The old cat! She never
    told me. Then you thought I had lied?" he demanded of Maisie.

    She was flurried by the term with which he had qualified her gentle
    friend, but she took the occasion for one to which she must in every
    manner lend herself. "Oh I didn't mind! But Mrs. Wix did," she added
    with an intention benevolent to her governess.

    Her intention was not very effective as regards Mrs. Beale. "Mrs. Wix is
    too idiotic!" that lady declared.

    "But to you, of all people," Sir Claude asked, "what had she to say?"

    "Why that, like Mrs. Micawber--whom she must, I think, rather
    resemble--she will never, never, never desert Miss Farange."

    "Oh I'll make that all right!" Sir Claude cheerfully returned.

    "I'm sure I hope so, my dear man," said Mrs. Beale, while Maisie
    wondered just how he would proceed. Before she had time to ask Mrs.
    Beale continued: "That's not all she came to do, if you please. But
    you'll never guess the rest."

    "Shall _I_ guess it?" Maisie quavered.

    Mrs. Beale was again amused. "Why you're just the person! It must be
    quite the sort of thing you've heard at your awful mother's. Have you
    never seen women there crying to her to 'spare' the men they love?"

    Maisie, wondering, tried to remember; but Sir Claude was freshly
    diverted. "Oh they don't trouble about Ida! Mrs. Wix cried to you to
    spare ME?"

    "She regularly went down on her knees to me."

    "The darling old dear!" the young man exclaimed.

    These words were a joy to Maisie--they made up for his previous
    description of Mrs. Wix. "And WILL you spare him?" she asked of Mrs.
    Beale.

    Her stepmother, seizing her and kissing her again, seemed charmed with
    the tone of her question. "Not an inch of him! I'll pick him to the
    bone!"

    "You mean that he'll really come often?" Maisie pressed.

    Mrs. Beale turned lovely eyes to Sir Claude. "That's not for me to
    say--its for him."

    He said nothing at once, however; with his hands in his pockets
    and vaguely humming a tune--even Maisie could see he was a little
    nervous--he only walked to the window and looked out at the Regent's
    Park. "Well, he has promised," Maisie said. "But how will papa like it?"

    "His being in and out? Ah that's a question that, to be frank with you,
    my dear, hardly matters. In point of fact, however, Beale greatly enjoys
    the idea that Sir Claude too, poor man, has been forced to quarrel with
    your mother."

    Sir Claude turned round and spoke gravely and kindly. "Don't be afraid,
    Maisie; you won't lose sight of me."

    "Thank you so much!" Maisie was radiant. "But what I meant--don't you
    know?--was what papa would say to ME."

    "Oh I've been having that out with him," said Mrs. Beale. "He'll behave
    well enough. You see the great difficulty is that, though he changes
    every three days about everything else in the world, he has never
    changed about your mother. It's a caution, the way he hates her."

    Sir Claude gave a short laugh. "It certainly can't beat the way she
    still hates HIM!"

    "Well," Mrs. Beale went on obligingly, "nothing can take the place of
    that feeling with either of them, and the best way they can think of to
    show it is for each to leave you as long as possible on the hands of the
    other. There's nothing, as you've seen for yourself, that makes either
    so furious. It isn't, asking so little as you do, that you're much of
    an expense or a trouble; it's only that you make each feel so well how
    nasty the other wants to be. Therefore Beale goes on loathing your
    mother too much to have any great fury left for any one else. Besides,
    you know, I've squared him."

    "Oh Lord!" Sir Claude cried with a louder laugh and turning again to the
    window.

    "_I_ know how!" Maisie was prompt to proclaim. "By letting him do what
    he wants on condition that he lets you also do it."

    "You're too delicious, my own pet!"--she was involved in another hug.
    "How in the world have I got on so long without you? I've not been
    happy, love," said Mrs. Beale with her cheek to the child's.

    "Be happy now!"--she throbbed with shy tenderness.

    "I think I shall be. You'll save me."

    "As I'm saving Sir Claude?" the little girl asked eagerly.

    Mrs. Beale, a trifle at a loss, appealed to her visitor, "Is she
    really?"

    He showed high amusement at Maisie's question. "It's dear Mrs. Wix's
    idea. There may be something in it."

    "He makes me his duty--he makes me his life," Maisie set forth to her
    stepmother.

    "Why that's what _I_ want to do!"--Mrs. Beale, so anticipated, turned
    pink with astonishment.

    "Well, you can do it together. Then he'll HAVE to come!"

    Mrs. Beale by this time had her young friend fairly in her lap and she
    smiled up at Sir Claude. "Shall we do it together?"

    His laughter had dropped, and for a moment he turned his handsome
    serious face not to his hostess, but to his stepdaughter. "Well, it's
    rather more decent than some things. Upon my soul, the way things are
    going, it seems to me the only decency!" He had the air of arguing it
    out to Maisie, of presenting it, through an impulse of conscience, as a
    connexion in which they could honourably see her participate; though his
    plea of mere "decency" might well have appeared to fall below her rosy
    little vision. "If we're not good for YOU" he exclaimed, "I'll be hanged
    if I know who we shall be good for!"

    Mrs. Beale showed the child an intenser light. "I dare say you WILL save
    us--from one thing and another."

    "Oh I know what she'll save ME from!" Sir Claude roundly asserted.
    "There'll be rows of course," he went on.

    Mrs. Beale quickly took him up. "Yes, but they'll be nothing--for you
    at least--to the rows your wife makes as it is. I can bear what _I_
    suffer--I can't bear what you go through."

    "We're doing a good deal for you, you know, young woman," Sir Claude
    went on to Maisie with the same gravity.

    She coloured with a sense of obligation and the eagerness of her desire
    it should be remarked how little was lost on her. "Oh I know!"

    "Then you must keep us all right!" This time he laughed.

    "How you talk to her!" cried Mrs. Beale.

    "No worse than you!" he gaily answered.

    "Handsome is that handsome does!" she returned in the same spirit. "You
    can take off your things," she went on, releasing Maisie.

    The child, on her feet, was all emotion. "Then I'm just to stop--this
    way?"

    "It will do as well as any other. Sir Claude, to-morrow, will have your
    things brought."

    "I'll bring them myself. Upon my word I'll see them packed!" Sir Claude
    promised. "Come here and unbutton."

    He had beckoned his young companion to where he sat, and he helped
    to disengage her from her coverings while Mrs. Beale, from a little
    distance, smiled at the hand he displayed. "There's a stepfather for
    you! I'm bound to say, you know, that he makes up for the want of other
    people."

    "He makes up for the want of a nurse!" Sir Claude laughed. "Don't you
    remember I told you so the very first time?"

    "Remember? It was exactly what made me think so well of you!"

    "Nothing would induce me," the young man said to Maisie, "to tell you
    what made me think so well of HER." Having divested the child he kissed
    her gently and gave her a little pat to make her stand off. The pat was
    accompanied with a vague sigh in which his gravity of a moment before
    came back. "All the same, if you hadn't had the fatal gift of beauty--"

    "Well, what?" Maisie asked, wondering why he paused. It was the first
    time she had heard of her beauty.

    "Why, we shouldn't all be thinking so well of each other!"

    "He isn't speaking of personal loveliness--you've not THAT vulgar
    beauty, my dear, at all," Mrs. Beale explained. "He's just talking of
    plain dull charm of character."

    "Her character's the most extraordinary thing in all the world," Sir
    Claude stated to Mrs. Beale.

    "Oh I know all about that sort of thing!"--she fairly bridled with the
    knowledge.

    It gave Maisie somehow a sudden sense of responsibility from which she
    sought refuge. "Well, you've got it too, 'that sort of thing'--you've
    got the fatal gift: you both really have!" she broke out.

    "Beauty of character? My dear boy, we haven't a pennyworth!" Sir Claude
    protested.

    "Speak for yourself, sir!" she leaped lightly from Mrs. Beale. "I'm good
    and I'm clever. What more do you want? For you, I'll spare your blushes
    and not be personal--I'll simply say that you're as handsome as you can
    stick together."

    "You're both very lovely; you can't get out of it!"--Maisie felt the
    need of carrying her point. "And it's beautiful to see you side by
    side."

    Sir Claude had taken his hat and stick; he stood looking at her a
    moment. "You're a comfort in trouble! But I must go home and pack you."

    "And when will you come back?--to-morrow, to-morrow?"

    "You see what we're in for!" he said to Mrs. Beale.

    "Well, I can bear it if you can."

    Their companion gazed from one of them to the other, thinking that
    though she had been happy indeed between Sir Claude and Mrs. Wix she
    should evidently be happier still between Sir Claude and Mrs. Beale. But
    it was like being perched on a prancing horse, and she made a movement
    to hold on to something. "Then, you know, shan't I bid goodbye to Mrs.
    Wix?"

    "Oh I'll make it all right with her," said Sir Claude.

    Maisie considered. "And with mamma?"

    "Ah mamma!" he sadly laughed.

    Even for the child this was scarcely ambiguous; but Mrs. Beale
    endeavoured to contribute to its clearness. "Your mother will crow,
    she'll crow--"

    "Like the early bird!" said Sir Claude as she looked about for a
    comparison.

    "She'll need no consolation," Mrs. Beale went on, "for having made your
    father grandly blaspheme."

    Maisie stared. "Will he grandly blaspheme?" It was impressive, it might
    have been out of the Bible, and her question produced a fresh play of
    caresses, in which Sir Claude also engaged. She wondered meanwhile who,
    if Mrs. Wix was disposed of, would represent in her life the element of
    geography and anecdote; and she presently surmounted the delicacy she
    felt about asking. "Won't there be any one to give me lessons?"

    Mrs. Beale was prepared with a reply that struck her as absolutely
    magnificent. "You shall have such lessons as you've never had in all
    your life. You shall go to courses."

    "Courses?" Maisie had never heard of such things.

    "At institutions--on subjects."

    Maisie continued to stare. "Subjects?"

    Mrs. Beale was really splendid. "All the most important ones. French
    literature--and sacred history. You'll take part in classes--with
    awfully smart children."

    "I'm going to look thoroughly into the whole thing, you know." And Sir
    Claude, with characteristic kindness, gave her a nod of assurance
    accompanied by a friendly wink.

    But Mrs. Beale went much further. "My dear child, you shall attend
    lectures."

    The horizon was suddenly vast and Maisie felt herself the smaller for
    it. "All alone?"

    "Oh no; I'll attend them with you," said Sir Claude. "They'll teach me
    a lot I don't know."

    "So they will me," Mrs. Beale gravely admitted. "We'll go with her
    together--it will be charming. It's ages," she confessed to Maisie,
    "since I've had any time for study. That's another sweet way in which
    you'll be a motive to us. Oh won't the good she'll do us be immense?"
    she broke out uncontrollably to Sir Claude.

    He weighed it; then he replied: "That's certainly our idea."

    Of this idea Maisie naturally had less of a grasp, but it inspired her
    with almost equal enthusiasm. If in so bright a prospect there would be
    nothing to long for it followed that she wouldn't long for Mrs. Wix;
    but her consciousness of her assent to the absence of that fond figure
    caused a pair of words that had often sounded in her ears to ring in
    them again. It showed her in short what her father had always meant by
    calling her mother a "low sneak" and her mother by calling her father
    one. She wondered if she herself shouldn't be a low sneak in learning to
    be so happy without Mrs. Wix. What would Mrs. Wix do?--where would Mrs.
    Wix go? Before Maisie knew it, and at the door, as Sir Claude was off,
    these anxieties, on her lips, grew articulate and her stepfather had
    stopped long enough to answer them. "Oh I'll square her!" he cried; and
    with this he departed.

    Face to face with Mrs. Beale, Maisie, giving a sigh of relief, looked
    round at what seemed to her the dawn of a higher order. "Then EVERY
    ONE will be squared!" she peacefully said. On which her stepmother
    affectionately bent over her again.
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    Chapter 15
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