Chapter 16

As she met the Captain's light blue eyes the greatest marvel occurred;
she felt a sudden relief at finding them reply with anxiety to the
horror in her face. "What in the world has he done?" He put it all on
Sir Claude.

"He has called her a damned old brute." She couldn't help bringing that
out.

The Captain, at the same elevation as her ladyship, gaped wide; then of
course, like every one else, he was convulsed. But he instantly caught
himself up, echoing her bad words. "A damned old brute--your mother?"

Maisie was already conscious of her second movement. "I think she tried
to make him angry."

The Captain's stupefaction was fine. "Angry--SHE? Why she's an angel!"

On the spot, as he said this, his face won her over; it was so bright
and kind, and his blue eyes had such a reflexion of some mysterious
grace that, for him at least, her mother had put forth. Her fund of
observation enabled her as she gazed up at him to place him: he was a
candid simple soldier; very grave--she came back to that--but not at
all terrible. At any rate he struck a note that was new to her and that
after a moment made her say: "Do you like her very much?"

He smiled down at her, hesitating, looking pleasanter and pleasanter.
"Let me tell you about your mother."

He put out a big military hand which she immediately took, and they
turned off together to where a couple of chairs had been placed under
one of the trees. "She told me to come to you," Maisie explained as they
went; and presently she was close to him in a chair, with the prettiest
of pictures--the sheen of the lake through other trees--before them, and
the sound of birds, the plash of boats, the play of children in the air.
The Captain, inclining his military person, sat sideways to be closer
and kinder, and as her hand was on the arm of her seat he put his own
down on it again to emphasise something he had to say that would be good
for her to hear. He had already told her how her mother, from the moment
of seeing her so unexpectedly with a person who was--well, not at all
the right person, had promptly asked him to take charge of her while she
herself tackled, as she said, the real culprit. He gave the child the
sense of doing for the time what he liked with her; ten minutes before
she had never seen him, but she could now sit there touching him,
touched and impressed by him and thinking it nice when a gentleman
was thin and brown--brown with a kind of clear depth that made his
straw-coloured moustache almost white and his eyes resemble little pale
flowers. The most extraordinary thing was the way she didn't appear just
then to mind Sir Claude's being tackled. The