intention of a kiss.

"Well, if her ladyship doesn't agree with you, what does it only prove?"
Mrs. Wix demanded in conclusion. "It proves that she's fond of Sir
Claude!"

Maisie, in the light of some of the evidence, reflected on that till her
hair was finished, but when she at last started up she gave a sign of no
very close embrace of it. She grasped at this moment Mrs. Wix's arm. "He
must have got his divorce!"

"Since day before yesterday? Don't talk trash."

This was spoken with an impatience which left the child nothing to
reply; whereupon she sought her defence in a completely different
relation to the fact. "Well, I knew he would come!"

"So did I; but not in twenty-four hours. I gave him a few days!" Mrs.
Wix wailed.

Maisie, whom she had now released, looked at her with interest. "How
many did SHE give him?"

Mrs. Wix faced her a moment; then as if with a bewildered sniff: "You
had better ask her!" But she had no sooner uttered the words than she
caught herself up. "Lord o' mercy, how we talk!"

Maisie felt that however they talked she must see him, but she said
nothing more for a time, a time during which she conscientiously
finished dressing and Mrs. Wix also kept silence. It was as if they each
had almost too much to think of, and even as if the child had the sense
that her friend was watching her and seeing if she herself were watched.
At last Mrs. Wix turned to the window and stood--sightlessly, as Maisie
could guess--looking away. Then our young lady, before the glass, gave
the supreme shake. "Well, I'm ready. And now to SEE him!"

Mrs. Wix turned round, but as if without having heard her. "It's
tremendously grave." There were slow still tears behind the
straighteners.

"It is--it is." Maisie spoke as if she were now dressed quite up to the
occasion; as if indeed with the last touch she had put on the
judgement-cap. "I must see him immediately."

"How can you see him if he doesn't send for you?"

"Why can't I go and find him?"

"Because you don't know where he is."

"Can't I just look in the salon?" That still seemed simple to Maisie.

Mrs. Wix, however, instantly cut it off. "I wouldn't have you look in
the salon for all the world!" Then she explained a little: "The salon
isn't ours now."

"Ours?"

"Yours and mine. It's theirs."

"Theirs?" Maisie, with her stare, continued to echo. "You mean they want
to keep us out?"

Mrs. Wix faltered; she sank into a chair and, as Maisie ha